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littledes1re · 24 days ago

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How to disappear | Chapter: Three

Summary: After what happened at your house, Joel is a mess. His girlfriend confronts him and that makes his situation way worse. The only thing that‘s left for you is to get better and forget him. But he pulls up on your front door, once again…

Warnings: Angst, dealing with grief, description of death in a flashback!, blood, dead body, dealing with heartbreak, crying, guilt, alcohol, talks and underlying mentions of suicide, age gap! (61 and 23)

A/N: hello once again hehe. This one’s a little bit longer and i’m trying to explore more Joel as a character (he is not the worst person ever, I promise you)

„You seriously have lost your mind, Joel.“

He didn‘t need anyone telling him that—he already knew. The moment when he looked into your eyes, full of tears and despair, it was burned into his mind, replaying in an endless loop. It wouldn't let him go, even as he sat in the car beside his so-called girlfriend, forcing himself to hold it together—trying his best not to crumble, to sob out maybe. Or maybe get the anger out, steer the wheel to the left and end it all for good.

„What do you think she is going through right now?“ Tess bursts out. Her arms flailed, not just in anger, but in helplessness—helplessness at herself, at him, at this situation she never should’ve agreed to. Why did she gone along with it? Why did she let it happen? Joel sees her from the corner of his eye, but he can‘t stop the car and explain her everything. He can‘t open up and talk to her about what he was feeling, he can‘t just do something—something to make this situation better, to make up for all the problems he had caused. His lower lip was trembling, fists tightening around the wheel, a knot in his throat making it impossible for him to talk, because if he would, he would cry. He was trying his best to concentrate on the road and in his mind, he drops Tess off, gets back home, collapsing into bed. Or drowning himself in liquor, numbing the guilt, the regret, the unbearable truth of what he'd done. But none of that would fix this. None of it would undo the damage.

She slumped back into her seat, staring at him. Waiting. But he had nothing to give— not now.

„The hell are you doing?“ Joel asks as Tess crosses her arms in front of her chest, not going out of the car, even though he just parked right in front of her apartment.

She sighs.

„Joel, I need an explanation. Right now.“

He looks at her. Stares. Minutes might pass, maybe longer. His mind circles the same agonizing path, again and again. How would the explanation unfold? How would it end? How would she react? How would he react? Each version plays out in his head, shifting, twisting, none of them leading anywhere good. No matter how he shapes it, no matter how he tries to make it sound less damning, it remains the same ugly truth. Telling her—admitting that he had fallen for his buddy’s young daughter only to cast her aside like she was nothing, was not an option.

„I already told you. We had fun, it was wrong. Now it‘s all over. Thank you for covering me, now please—”

„Nuh uh. I don‘t believe you Miller. I saw it and heard it. She was crying her heart out. What the hell happened between you two?“

The moon filtered through the cracks of the blinds, painting soft shadows over your skin, tracing the curves of your face, your collarbone and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The dim light made everything feel dreamlike, as if time had slowed to allow the quiet to stretch, uninterrupted.

Joel laid beside you, his gaze quiet, warm, thoughtful. You held it, locked in the silent pull between you—no words, no movement, just a silent understanding that neither of you needed to speak. The weight of the day had disappeared, leaving only this: the closeness, the security of being near him, the way his presence settled something deep inside you. The room was still, save for the occasional creak of the old bedframe and the soft rustling of fabric when either of you shifted slightly. There was something profoundly peaceful in the way your breaths aligned, an unspoken rhythm, a quiet connection between souls. It wasn’t just comfort—it was belonging.

Together.

But there’s a sudden shift in Joel’s gaze—uncertainty pooling in his eyes, like a thought that’s been swimming in his mind for days, finally ready to surface. Something has been weighing on him, lingering between you both in quiet tension, and yet, you hadn’t noticed.

He parts his lips as if to speak, then hesitates, closing them again. The hesitation tightens something in your chest. Concern flickers across your face as your hand finds his cheek, a gentle touch meant to steady him. But before you can ask, he finally speaks.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

You feel your heart drop. While this moment between you two should be peaceful, comfortable—it turned into a miserable argument.

You two were going back and forth, stood up from his bed and standing in his kitchen. Tears already dripping from your eyes, still wearing his shirt, still feeling his come dripping out of you from two hours ago. You angrily shouted at him, throwing him words, you never wanted to say to him. Yet, he didn’t give you an explanation, just repeating the same thing over again. Nothing that makes sense to you, nothing that makes sense of why he suddenly wants to end this relationship. And after a while he completely went silent.

He just looked at you.

And you looked at him back.

And then he whispered one last time.

“We can’t.”

Tess looked in disbelief. In utter disbelief, not believing one single thing that just came out her best friend’s mouth. At least—not wanting to.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Joel knew this outcome would happen, he didn’t want to say it to her, especially to her. Hell—didn’t even wanted to admit it to himself. Not even to his brother, the one he always told his secrets, always pouring his heart out to him. Joel wasn’t clueless, he knew what he did. It was cowardice, it was stupidity. And maybe it was a twisted way of him trying to protect you. Him being afraid of losing you the way he lost his daughter. Scared of mistreating you.

„Y’really are one dumbass of a man if you think she’s just gonna forget you—just like that.“

Tess was absolutely furious—rightfully so. Her stomach twisting every time she remembered that she'd agreed to this. Agreed to show up as his girlfriend, going along with this reckless idea, to right a wrong.

Instead, all they‘d done was wreck a heart.

She hadn’t signed up for that. She hadn’t signed up to stand there and listen to how much hurt had been left behind in Joel’s wake. She didn’t even know him like that—not really. But now? Now she sure as hell was beginning to.

Joel exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up as he ran his hands over his face, pacing erratically in the too small space of his home.

„Please, god damn—just give me a break!“

The words erupted from him, raw, desperate, like he could somehow claw his way out of this mess if only he shouted loud enough.

But Tess just scoffed, shaking her head with an exhausted laugh.

„I don‘t even want to know what Sarah would think about all of this.“

And there it was. The name. The weight of it. Heavy and suffocating.

Joel stopped in his tracks.

Tess didn’t intended her words to be cruel, but rather a wake up call from him. Regardless, her words hit like a gut punch anyway. He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze anywhere but hers, because he knew, if he met her eyes, he’d see the one thing he wasn’t ready to face.

Truth.

And his mind drifted once again, to that night that destroyed his whole life.

The blue and red lights flickered at equal intervals; if you looked at them with unfocused eyes, they appeared purple. That was all he remembered of the night: the screams, the loud police cars and purple.

He felt guilty for not remembering Sarah's face.

She laid crumpled on his lap, too quiet, too small. His little girl. Her body was warm but fading. Blood smeared across his arms, pooling in the creases of his clothes, and still—purple. Always purple.

The audio she sent from that night was not deleted from his phone, sitting there, waiting for him to listen at it whenever he missed his girl.

Yet, he couldn’t even remember her face.

The only thing that remained vivid was the pain in his gut. A deep, primal ache that hollowed him out. The one that he feels over and over whenever he thinks of it. Weak, weak and unable to grasp what was happening—he hold her, hold her body, screaming into her ear, shaking her body, holding the wound—pressing down until his hand cramped. Wrapping her body into his jacket, carrying her like he did when she was first born, her head in his chest but body limp and unresponsive. Yet he carried her, somewhere, he didn’t know where. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay, you’re okay, Daddy’s here.” Yet, those chantings came unheard. His voice was stained with the broken sobs and screams that he lets out, breath coming in shudders, voice cracking as he called for help—over and over but it was all silent.

There was no heartbeat beneath his fingertips. No flutter of lashes. No wide-eyed spark of wonder. Just stillness. And in that stillness, something in him died too. His baby girl was gone. And with her, the reason he was alive.

All those years he'd spent memorizing every feature, every dimple of her smile, every soft curl that framed her cheek... but now, when he tried to recall them, they scattered like ash in the wind.

If you could describe Joel after the accident, you couldn’t say much—because no one saw him after that. He vanished from the world, not physically, but emotionally—swallowed by silence. He built walls so thick no one could see in, and no light could reach him. Not once he called, dared to speak, not once he went outside looked at the trees. The seasons passed like ghosts, slipping by his window—spring thaw, summer bloom, autumn flame, winter hush—each promising that time might heal, that life might move forward. But time was powerless against wounds that cut too deep. Sitting agonisingly, preventing him from standing up, preventing him from thinking straight. And as he failed his one opportunity to flee it all, pointing a gun to his temple, trembling, missing his head and surviving with a wound—he suffocated himself in alcohol.

“Hey, dad. Can you come pick me up? I was gonna go with my other friends but they are going somewhere else. I’m waiting at Hayley’s house.”

Her voice felt like stab wounds, over and over again. Whenever it went quiet, her voice appeared. Whenever it was quiet, he squeezed his eyes shut as he remembers how he said ‘no’ to her. ‘I’m working, busy. Take an uber’.

Tommy came numerous times by, looked out for his older brother. Yet, he didn’t had anything he could work with. Joel didn’t listen to him, didn’t let tommy help him, didn’t want to hear what he has to say. He made sure that Joel knew, he could talk with him, like they always did. Like the old times before all of this. He didn’t gave his brother up, slowly getting him used to his job once more, slowly cleaning his house—only the alcohol stood there, only the sorrow was still seen. The sleepless nights were evident, the emotionless state he was in made tommy’s stomach turn.

„Hey, Kiddo.”

Talking to you felt like a chore on that day. It felt impossible but necessary. He knew you well enough, a sensitive girl with a soft spot for her mom and a dad who had too often felt distant. And after his buddy told him that his wife died, he knew in what state he is going to find you. The many bags under your swollen, red eyes. Hair messy, just like your room.

He understood. He knew what you were feeling.

First, he felt like he was talking to a ghost. Your eyes were fixed on a single spot, unmoving, as if afraid looking away might shatter what was left. Your breath came in slow gasps, then silence, then shallow again. Tears left dried trails on your cheeks—etched so deeply into your skin they seemed permanent. And still, they returned, welling up every time a memory passed too close. Joel tried his best, but at least he sat there in silence with you. A silence that connected. A silence that was comfortable—two people dealing with the same situation, two people that lost something in their life. Two people who suddenly became one.

„Okey! Great, thank you so, so much. Goodbye!”

Life was finally opening it‘s arms to you. After years of proving yourself one project at a time, you stepped into your first full-time graphic design job— the very place where you once started as a part timer. Your mother taught you how to hold a pencil before you could even spell your name. The two of you would spend endless afternoons at the kitchen table, surrounded by colored pencils, magazines, and love— crafting pieces that were art and memory.

Now, years later, every design you created whispered echoes of those moments. Each curve, each color choice, carried the warmth of your roots. You knew if she was alive, she would be proud of you. And if he was here with you, he would be too.

„Hey, uh— I’m leaving.”

Your dad stood in the hallway, the same emotionless expression stuck on his face like a permanent mask. His suitcase rested by his side, the glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, and the navy blue suit he wore hung awkwardly on him now, a size too small or perhaps a decade too late. He said he was going on another business trip— the same excuse he always used— though you had the suspicion there was more to it. Not that you cared enough to ask.

In truth, a part of you welcomed his absence. One whole week with the house to yourself. No stiff silences. No cold critiques. Just space— glorious and uninterrupted space to breathe, create, and just to be.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, it was as if the air itself softened. The hum of the refrigerator sounded almost melodic. The dust motes in the sunlight moved slower, gentler. For the first time in what felt like ages, you could hear your own thoughts without needing to shout over the noise of unspoken tension. Everything felt more aligned, more still, more yours. You poured yourself a cup of tea, settled by the window, and let the quiet wrap around you like a blanket. Maybe this week would be the start of something new. Maybe this time, you can look forward. Focus on yourself, start to get better.

You didn’t cry for him anymore. The tears long dried up, but the anger still lingered inside you—quiet, heavy, always waiting beneath the surface. Every thought of him still sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps spreading over your body— a reminder that the wounds hadn’t fully closed.

And yet, you were still wrestling with the same feeling: understanding.

You felt bad— guilty, even. For the slap across his face, for the words you thrown at him in rage. You hated that moment, hated the way your anger had taken over. But behind that facade was something softer— an ache, a crack in your chest. Because he wasn’t just the man who hurt you. He was also a grieving father. A man who had lost his daughter and was drowning in his own torment— mentally unstable, lost, and utterly alone. Just like you.

But you were hurting too. You were broken in your own way, trying to patch yourself together while watching someone else fall apart. And still, deep down, you knew you’d never be capable of doing that to him what he did to you.

That truth haunted you.

Grief wears different faces. It twists people, shapes them, sometimes into things they never meant to become. And while your pain demanded justice, a small voice inside whispered for grace. Because maybe, just maybe, part of healing is forgiving.

There were already tears prickling in your eyes once again. The thought of him, his smell, his hands, his smile and the comfortable feeling he gave you. How could you forget? When he made you feel like a princess, treated you better than everyone you’ve ever been with. Every memory was stitched into your heart like embroidery—delicate, permanent. Even the silences you shared had their own melody, like the world paused just for the two of you. You could still feel the ghost of his fingertips brushing yours, still hear the way he said your name like it was something sacred.

A loud knock pulled you out of your thoughts.

It was already evening, who could it be? You tip-toed down to your front door, carefully opening it and looked through the narrow gap. And your breath hitched when you did. It’s like all that you have forgotten, all the pain you had swallowed came back once again— standing right in front of your door.

„What the hell are you doing here, Joel?”

He looked miserable. Hell—he even smelled miserable. Like he had bathed in the sharp sting of liquor, his skin soaked with it, reeking like you’d stepped into the backroom of some dingy bar. Sweat all over his face, hair damp, matted to his forehead and his shirt was plastered to his chest. The bags under his eyes, just more prominent and bigger, like he didn’t sleep since you last talked. The same man you saw on his daughter’s funeral. That hollow-eyed, broken man who had nothing left to lose. The same man who came to you that night and held you like he couldn’t bear being alone with his sorrow. The same man who whispered affection like it could patch the holes in both your hearts.

„I-I don’t know.” he breathed, voice jagged and rushed like he’d run straight from a nightmare into your doorway. But even as the words spilled from him, you saw it— clear as day. His eyes were vacant. As if Joel isn’t really here.

Joel swayed slightly where he stood, like gravity itself was too much to fight. His knuckles were white, gripping the frame of your doorway, holding himself up. He looked like a man caught between wanting to confess something and praying you wouldn’t ask. Every inch of him screamed exhaustion— not the kind, a good night’s sleep could fix, but the kind that settles in your bones when you’ve been carrying the weight of the past for far too long.

You tried to meet his eyes, but he looked everywhere but at you. The floor. The ceiling. The dark hallway behind you. His silence wasn’t empty— it was loud, deafening, soaked with everything he couldn’t say. And yet, your heart betrayed you. Somewhere beneath the anger and confusion, a part of you still ached for him. Still remembered how his voice softened when he said your name. Still longed that comfort he gave you, longed for the tall, strong man he once was. Only yours.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself. „Joel,” you whispered, unsure if it was meant to comfort him, or yourself.

His eyes finally met yours, bloodshot and glistening.

You were angry— angry at yourself. Angry at how easily you’d let your guard down again, how effortlessly you allowed him back into your room after everything. After what he did. After his actions. The memory still burned, but there he was. A wreck of a man, and your heart ached at the sight of him.

Joel was lying next to you now, on your bed. You didn’t even remember guiding him there. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was compassion. It was obvious he couldn’t stand on his own, let alone pretend he was okay. There was something broken in him— something hollow that hadn’t been there before. And as much as your rational mind screamed to stay angry, something deeper inside whispered… mercy.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, glassy and unfocused, like he was trying to hold onto something— reality, maybe. Or the last pieces of himself before everything broke.

„You’re drunk,” you said quietly. Not accusing, just... acknowledging.

He didn’t argue. He just gave a soft, half-hearted chuckle, like he knew how pitiful he looked. His voice was raw when he finally spoke. „I didn’t know where else to go.”

That hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You shifted slightly on the bed, the mattress dipping gently beneath your movement as you laid down next to him. Joel laid still, eyes closed now, his breathing steady. You could feel the heat of him next to you, the rise and fall of his chest— so familiar it hurt.

„I got the full-time job,” you murmured, more to the ceiling than to him.

He didn’t respond. Just turned his head slowly to look at you. His eyes, shadowed and tired, met yours. And in that moment, no words were needed.

You saw it— all of it. The pride. The ache. The silent apology tucked beneath the quiet admiration in his gaze. And you understood. He was proud of you. He had always been.

There was a woman waiting for him somewhere else. Someone who probably didn’t know where he was tonight. That thought made your stomach twist. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t yours anymore.

But here you were— side by side again.

His hand shifted on the blanket, fingers brushing against yours. Not a full reach, just a graze. A question. An apology. A memory.

You could’ve moved. Pulled away. Created space between you both, where logic and reality lived. But instead, you stayed still, letting the warmth of that small touch settle.

It felt wrong.

It felt right.

AAAA this took so long🫩

Masterlist for How to Disappear!!

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mxstellatayte · 10 months ago

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pretty please: chapter one.

pretty please masterlist.

chapter one warnings: lewis lowkey being a sugar daddy, (sex spoilers after this,) legal use of alcohol, consensual sex!!!, lewis is really good at dirty talking lol, lewis has a big dick haha, oral sex (m and f receiving,) multiple orgasms (f receiving,) belly bulge, praise (m and f receiving,) lewis hamilton aftercare king

chapter one word count: 5.3k (3k words of porn tho don't worry)

taglist: @pear-1206 @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore

join my taglist here!

you made me an offer i can't refuse

thursday, 23 may, 2019

you push out a shaky breath, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in your outfit one last time before stepping out of your hotel room. today is the day you've been both dreading and looking forward to for the past two weeks- the day you interview the one and only lewis hamilton at the monaco grand prix media day.

when you'd been offered the opportunity for a one-on-one interview with one of the most iconic faces in both the fashion and motorsports world, you thought you were dreaming. turns out that the journalist who had originally been assigned to the project had a family emergency and needed time off of work, so the chance to lead the project was yours and yours alone. of course, once you realized that you were not dreaming, you accepted. despite your preparation, you're still terrified. you have ten questions at the ready in your small notebook that you've read over and attempted to memorize approximately twelve times each hour for the past three days, but the practice does nothing to soothe your anxiety.

"fuck it," you say to yourself, inspecting your makeup one last time before slipping your feet into your signature shoes- platform high top converse. once on the streets of monaco, you hail a cab to take you to the circuit, your black and purple media badge secure in your purse. your stomach is twisting with anxiety the whole way there, and when you pay the driver and step out of the cab, it only increases tenfold.

you're about to interview lewis hamilton. no big deal.

yeah.

not a big deal at all.

the next hour and a half is a whirlwind of meeting with lewis' manager to getting your questions checked over to getting a tour of the media center to seeing the recording booth where you're going to be interviewing the driver. it's a nice room, but it's separate from the rest of the media areas, so you assume it's likely not normally for recording podcasts.

"how long do i have before the interview?" you ask, turning to lewis' pr manager.

"about twenty minutes, but lewis is going to be here in ten for soundcheck. make yourself comfortable for now, can i get you anything? water, tea, coffee?"

"a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you." you smile and nod, sitting down inside the booth on the plush couch. in a feeble attempt to quell your nerves, you take your mini notebook out of your bag and go over the questions for the umpteenth time today, but the words on the page blur together as you try to squish down the stirring in your stomach.

"here's the tea for you," someone says, and you're expecting it to be the manager you'd spoken to, but when you look up, you're met with an unfairly beautiful face. oh. okay. this is happening. you're casually accepting a cup of tea from five-time world champion lewis hamilton. the man you're about to interview.

no big deal.

the interview goes by without any hiccups, and, before you know it, your hour in the booth is up, and you say your on-camera goodbyes before they stop recording. as you're about to leave, though, lewis gently touches your upper arm and asks to speak to you for a moment-

only if you don't have something to rush to, of course- and your heart leaps into your throat. had you said something wrong or hit a sensitive nerve with one of your questions?

"i want to thank you. not a lot of reporters are able to ask questions beyond the simple 'how do you plan on winning this weekend' and 'what changes are you going to make based on mistakes made at the previous race,' so i applaud you. your questions were really different from what i was expecting, and your interview style is really unique. i enjoyed talking to you." he extends his hand and you shake it firmly, your chest feeling like it might just explode with pride.

"thank you, mr. hamilton. i'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to speak with you, and i'm looking forward to any i may have in the future." the driver beams, and you can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. it's annoyingly pretty.

"i won't have any of this 'mr. hamilton' nonsense. call me lewis. after talking to you for an hour, i can tell that you're very knowledgeable when it comes to both motor sports and fashion, which is really impressive. and i look forward to speaking with you in the future, too." the two of you chat for a few more minutes before he's summoned once more, and you bid your goodbyes.

a few minutes later, as you're trying to calm down your heart rate so that you can maintain some small semblance of composure before returning to the outside world, one of your long-time friends from college approaches you from behind, and, in her standard fashion, scares the shit out of you.

"boo."

you shriek, your previous efforts to stabilize your heart rate now entirely in vain. "christ, amelia! do you have to sneak up on me everywhere?"

"absolutely. i also have something to tell you something." your eyebrows furrow as she almost instantly moves on from the fact that she nearly scared you half to death mere seconds ago, but you almost fully pass away by choking on your saliva two seconds later. "you've got it really down bad for him, and you're not subtle about it. at all."

after you're done recovering from yet another near-death experience, you punch her left arm. hard. "you are so lucky i don't have a weapon right now." amelia laughs, her head thrown back and her shoulders bouncing with delight.

"awe, come on." she smiles at you, her eyes glittering in their signature way, signaling that she's about to drag you into a potentially messy and new situation. "you know that the rules state very clearly that there's a zero-tolerance policy for physical or verbal harassment."

i got it bad for you, so baby

thursday, 28 november, 2019.

it's your third time interviewing lewis in the 2019 season, and since you first spoke to him at the monaco grand prix, things have changed for both of you. following the success of your interview with him at the monaco grand prix and the article you wrote to go along with it, you'd been promoted from your previous position as fashion field journalist to the lofty title of fashion and sports researcher and journalist. as soon as lewis hears the news, he's sure to congratulate you, this time at one of the biggest spectacles in motorsports: the abu dhabi grand prix. you can't help but beam with pride when he mentions your new title, thanking him again for his time, and remembering to call him by his first name despite how strange it feels.

"i should be congratulating you on something, as well, six-time world champion," you grin, happy as your friendly banter with lewis seems to fall into place. your first time meeting him, you were so terrified of saying something wrong that you didn't let yourself really let go and show your personality. the second time, in mexico, you were able to relax a little bit more and even crack a few jokes. today, you're all smiles and even got breakfast with him before the scheduled meeting time. one anxiety you'd voiced was that the same paparazzi that you've worked with in the past don't take photos of you with the driver and sell them to the media, which would undoubtedly start a pr disaster for both of you.

"if you'd rather have breakfast in the paddock, i can have that set up," he'd offered, and, once again, who would you be to decline such a kind offer?

so here you find yourself, enjoying an expertly brewed italian iced coffee and two perfectly crumbly strawberry scones, sitting across from the reigning world champion of motorsport.

you know, standard thursdays.

"one thing i don't think i've mentioned before," lewis begins, setting down his cup of tea, "is how much i admire that you try to find the human behind the driver."

your eyebrows furrow. "i don't think i follow."

"i now realize my wording is really weird. let me fix that." you laugh, taking another bite of your scone. "you don't exclusively ask questions about driving. you dig into our hobbies and interests outside of the paddock. in my experience, the way you balance questions for both motorsports and fashion is fascinating."

"it's all part of the job. i wouldn't be where i am without interesting questions, would i?" lewis smiles, shaking his head.

"i doubt it, but you are pretty damn smart. i bet you'd find a way to make it here one way or another."

"i'm flattered."

the conversation continues easily as the two of you finish your breakfast, then, as you begin to prepare yourself to stand and leave, he stops you. "actually, there's one last thing i wanted to do before we went on camera."

your head tilts in confusion as you set your signature lipstick back in your bag, a deep red balm that you've used since you started working at vogue. it's become your trademark product, and almost everyone in the office knows exactly which one you use. "do i need to be worried, lewis?"

"no, not at all! it's this," he says, and your eyebrows rise in complete and utter shock when he pulls out a small box wrapped in white paper and a crimson bow wrapped around it all. "i wanted to get you a gift as a way of saying thank you for all the curveball questions you've thrown at me this year." your hands shake as you take the box from him, and you already know exactly which brand it is. cartier. sure, you've written pieces about their timeless looks and elegant aesthetics, and owning a piece of their jewelry has always been a dream of yours, but it's always been just that: a dream.

"lewis, i can't accept this. i- i'm honestly at a loss for words. seriously, no." you can't help but flush at how he's looking at you, those annoyingly beautiful eyes of his and the stupidly perfect crow's feet that only show up when he really smiles- when he smiles the way he is now. gods, amelia was right. you really are down bad for the driver.

"please, just open it up. if you don't like it, i'll take it back and you can choose something you prefer." he nudges the box towards you once more, and the crisp wax seal that sits on top of the paper is incredibly enticing.

"are you serious?" a part of you wants to think that this is some sick joke, that there's cameras on you and it's all going up on one of those prank channels on youtube. a much, much bigger part of you believes lewis, though. that is the part of you that takes the box between your shaking hands, carefully pops open the wax seal, nimbly unties the beautiful ribbon, and gently unfolds the pure white paper. when you finally open the box, you gasp, tears threatening to well in your eyes. "lewis..."

"do you like it?" his voice sounds anxious and hopeful, and you can't help but realize how much thought he'd put into this gift. when you'd invited him into your office to review some photos that were to go into an article in the next vogue issue a few months prior, he'd seen the vision board on your wall and asked about it. bashfully, you had explained to him that it was a silly idea you had when you graduated from uni with your friends- each of you made one, cutting and pasting photos from pinterest, magazines, newspapers, and anything you could find, assembling your dreams in a mishmash of colors and ideas. one of your dreams on the board had been to own this exact necklace- the cartier juste un clou necklace in white gold. the fourteen diamonds set in the precious metal glitter back at you, and you can't help but smile.

"i love it, lewis. thank you so much." he visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening and the crease between his eyebrows disappearing.

"i'm glad. here, turn around. let me put it on you?" you happily oblige, lifting your hair out of the way after you stand so that he can fasten the delicate clasp over your spine.

it's safe to say that both his and your fans noticed the necklace hanging between your collarbones, sitting just below the star necklace you wear daily on top of your dark grey high-collared shirt. you try your best not to look at the comments on the videos of your interviews, but amelia had shown you one that day after the unedited interview went up online.

"are they dating or something? i can't get over how lewis looks at her."

sunday, 1 december, 2019

after the race, lewis crossing the line not only in p1, more than 16 seconds ahead of the rest of the grid, but with the fastest lap, as well, you're sure to congratulate him on your social media accounts and in person in the pit lane. "lewis!" his head turns at the sound of your voice, and he sees you moving as quickly as you can down the pit lane, neon green paddock pass hanging from your neck alongside the black and purple media pass. your signature converse and light wash jeans complete your outfit, and his heart swells with joy when he sees that you're still wearing the necklace he gave you.

"hey! i'm glad they let you down here after the race. i was a bit worried i'd have to wring a security guard's neck to get you down here."

"aw, you'd do that for little old me?"

"i'd do just about anything for the most interesting reporter in the paddock," he replies, ever so cocky and so annoyingly pretty. seriously, was he a saint or something in his past life? it feels painfully unfair that he was blessed with such perfect looks and charm. it makes your stomach twist with a flirty giddiness you haven't felt since you were a teenager. it's exciting. "are you coming to the after party?"

"i don't know if i'll be able to. i have a lot to do in the next few days and i honestly don't know if i'm going to be able to take a break on the plane back to london. i'll probably be sitting in my seat going over notes and writing up an article or answering an obscene amount of emails."

"please? just one night? i'll buy your drinks." he bats his eyes at you, and it really shouldn't make you fold as easily as it does, but here you are, sitting in his mercedes and driving to a probably very heinously overpriced club.

a girl needs to be a passenger princess every now and then, right?

when you arrive at the club, you have to force your lips to stay closed so that your jaw doesn't drop in shock and awe. paparazzi swarm you as soon as you step out of the car and lewis hands the keys to the valet, and for a moment, you're convinced this is some sort of sick and twisted fever dream as microphones are shoved in your direction and cameras flash quickly enough to make you glad you don't have photosensitive epilepsy. when lewis' hand rests on the small of your back and he smiles brightly at you, though, you're reassured that this is very much real.

"after you." you smile back at him, your own anxiety lessening just a tiny bit now that you know that he's right there by you.

pretty please, come on over and ruin my life

how did you end up here?

you'll blame it on the alcohol.

either way, lewis' lips feel amazing on yours, and you waddle slightly as he backs you up to the bed in his extravagant hotel room. "need this off," he mutters, hands searching under your shirt and gripping at your waist. your brain is a foggy mess of lust, alcohol, and a lot more lust, and as quickly as you can, you pull back from the kiss (much to lewis' dismay,) tug your shirt out of your waistband and yank it over your head, tossing it somewhere to your right. almost immediately, strong arms wrap back around your torso and you're caged in, and every single one of your senses is flooded with lewis, lewis, lewis. his skin is hot underneath where your hands lay, your right on his cheek and your left clutching the side of his neck as if letting go would result in falling off the face of the earth.

his kisses are messy, desperate, and wet. his tongue glides along your own and you moan wantonly, the noise only further spurring on his efforts. as you lay back against the bed, lewis kisses his way down your chest (when did your bra come off?), lavishing each of your breasts with his tongue and hands. one hand works over your flesh, kneading and pinching while his tongue licks over your right nipple, gently biting and sucking and smirking when you moan once again, switching to the other side. "lewis, oh my god-" you interrupt yourself with an embarrassingly loud whine, your back arching as deft fingers pop open the button on your jeans, unzip the fly, and slip into your panties.

"fuck, darling, so wet for me already," lewis groans, his head buried into your neck as he bites gently at the sensitive skin there. "i'm gonna have to get a taste before i fuck you."

"yes, oh my god, please," you whine, the mere thought of the driver between your thighs making another rush of butterflies flood your lower tummy. you almost laugh when you realize that you still have your converse on and he's struggling with the laces, so you lift yourself up off of the bed and shoo his hands away, instead expertly undoing the white laces in less than ten seconds and kicking them off your feet, leaning back onto your elbows as they hit the ground with a muffled thump. "you are way too overdressed."

sure, you've seen photos of lewis shirtless before, but it doesn't compare to seeing it in person and up close, and...

fuck.

he's beautiful.

"that's not fair."

"what?" lewis laughs, crawling back over you after you both pull your pants off and toss them to the side, and your breath briefly catches in your throat as the scent of his cologne overwhelms your senses.

"you aren't allowed to be nice and hot. it doesn't work like that." lewis laughs, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips that intoxicates you more than any of the high proof alcohols you've drank in the past few hours.

"well, i guess i'm a rule breaker, then." he shuffles you up the bed so that your head rests on the plush pillows, sighing in relief when you think he's finally going to fuck you, but you gasp when he slides his way back down to your thighs, pulls them apart with his hands, and settles between them. "fuck."

"lewis, please. need you."

"what do you need, baby?" he teases as his hands begin stroking up and down your thighs. you're about to respond, but you cut yourself off with a cry when his fingers gently stroke up your panty-covered slit, the sensitivity making your back arch and your hands grip the sheets tightly.

"fucking hell, i... i need you to eat me out."

"i thought you'd never ask." his fingers tug at the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips slightly, just enough for him to slide them off of your legs and add them to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. without wasting a second, he dives into your cunt, tongue dragging along your slit from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you both moan in unison. his hands grab at the meat of your ass, pulling your hips closer to his face, and you yelp, but it's quickly cut off with another moan as lewis' tongue prods at your entrance, hot and insistent.

"mmgh, lewis, fuck, so good." you barely have any control over your own mouth as lewis eats you out, his tongue expertly lapping up every part of your cunt as if it's the best meal he's ever tasted. he quickly figures out what makes you twitch and moan and focuses on that, his nose bumping against your clit as his jaw hinges open and he swallows you whole. his hands tightly grip your ass, the pads of his fingers digging into the skin and definitely leaving some form of marks to appear later in the night, but that's the least of your concerns when you have the world champion of motorsport between your legs. the moans that tumble past your lips echo off of the bare walls of the lavish hotel room, but not a single noise you make is embellished in the slightest- he's just making you feel that good. the coil in your tummy builds and builds, but your brain has been reduced to mush from pleasure, so you have to resort to scrabbling your hands at whatever you can grab, your fingers ultimately tugging at his neat braids. lewis thankfully gets the hint and only increases his efforts, his left hand moving from your ass to gently push two fingers into your entrance, and, when he curls them upwards, perfectly hitting your g-spot, you nearly sob, your orgasm hitting you a lot sooner than you had anticipated. "oh, lewis, don't stop, please. feels so good, baby, fuck."

lewis helps you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing a tender kiss to your hipbone before climbing back up to you and connecting your lips in yet another messy kiss, and you groan when you can taste your cum on his tongue. when lewis' boxer-covered erection grinds against your sensitive clit, your mouth falls open in a gasp, letting him take the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and run against yours. when you kiss him, it feels like you've stepped through the gates of heaven and you're kissing an angel. you suck greedily on lewis' tongue and he moans in response, making you smile into the kiss.

lewis pulls back momentarily and you pout, but the sight before you is absolutely beautiful. his skin glows with a thin sheen of sweat and his lips and chin are covered in a mix of your cum and spit. it's gorgeous. "are you okay with this?"

"more than okay," you grin, leaning up to peck his lips quickly. "it's fantastic."

"in that case, i'd love to fuck you properly..." at his words and the feeling of his lips ghosting down the side of your neck, pressing feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin, you shiver, your hands coming to rest on the sides of his torso. "if you'll have me, of course."

"please do." with another smile, lewis pushes himself up and off the bed, returning promptly with a condom in his hand. you bite your lip and watch eagerly as he pulls down his boxers, and...

fuck.

you're fucked.

"seriously, lewis? are you kidding?" your head falls back with an exasperated laugh, your shoulders shaking as you realize: of course he's big. if he's nice and attractive, then it's almost a guarantee that he's going to have a big dick. "you really just have it all, don't you?" the mattress dips, and you raise your head again, looking back at him as he crawls towards you, almost catlike in his motions.

"i could say the same for you. beautiful, kind, intelligent, an absolutely killer ass..." you scoff and roll your eyes, trying to come up with a cocky response, but your brain short circuits when you feel lewis begin to push the head of his cock into you. "oh, fuck."

"lewis, oh my god," you keen, your hands reaching up and finding purchase on his broad shoulders for stability. his left hand holds your waist while his right grips at your hip, the tightness of his hold almost painful... almost.

"baby, you're so tight. taking me so well. 's like you were made for me." you're pretty sure the words spilling from lewis' mouth are just mindless, sex-brain-induced babbles, but either way, it makes your pussy throb around him, and you both groan in pleasure when his hips finally meet yours. he looks down at you and almost chokes- you look absolutely stunning. your eyes are screwed shut, your lips parted as breathy moans sneak their way past them, and your hair is splayed around your head like a halo.

when you finally manage to pry your eyes open and steady your breathing, lewis is gazing down at you, and you can't help but pull him down for yet another kiss. how many times have you kissed him tonight?

not enough, you decide.

between soft and slow kisses, you breathe out the words that lewis has been praying you'll say: "you can move, lew." when he does, slowly pulling out most of the way before pushing back in, the drag of his cock against your walls makes you shudder, your nails digging into his shoulders and undoubtedly leaving crescent-moon shaped divots in the skin. "oh... oh, fuck, baby."

"you like that, baby? you like having my cock inside of you?"

all you can muster in response is a meek "mhmm," but that isn't enough for him. he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him, and halts his steady thrusts, making you whine.

"use your words. i know you can- you showed me this morning."

"yes!" you sob. "yes, i love feeling you fill me up. i love it, lewis. it feels so good. feels perfect."

"there you go. i knew you could do it." his words make you moan even louder as he resumes his thrusts, this time at a much faster pace. "fuck, look at that. taking me so well... i can even see it. gimme your hand, baby. feel it yourself." he places your left hand low on your stomach, just between your hipbones, and... oh.

oh.

you can feel his dick filling you up under your hand.

"lewis, oh my god!" your moans only increase in volume with his own when he presses down onto the bulge in your tummy with his hand, changing how deeply you feel him, and it sends you hurtling towards your second orgasm of the night embarrassingly fast. "fuck, fuck, lewis, don't stop. feels so good, baby, just like that, yes!" your own hand sneaks around his wrist and rubs circles around your clit, which makes you clench around him, which in turn throws you into your orgasm. "lewis, 'm cumming, 'm cumming, ah!"

"just like that, baby, cum for me. so perfect. so, so perfect." lewis talks and fucks you through your orgasm, his own fingers taking over when yours falter on your clit. when the end of your orgasm trails off, you try to catch your breath, but when your post-orgasmic clarity dawns on you, you realize that lewis didn't cum.

"oh, fuck, lewis... let me suck you off. you didn't cum."

"are you sure? i'm-" he cuts himself off with a grunt, his hips stuttering as he slows his thrusts so as to not hurt you in your oversensitive state, but when you nod, your bottom lip pinched seductively between your teeth, he gives in. "alright, yeah. yeah." he pulls out of you and you roll over, shuffling your way down the bed until you're settled between his legs, your arms resting on his upper thighs.

"you're so pretty, lewis. so, so pretty." if it was a bit brighter in the room, you would've seen the way lewis' mouth ticks open and his dick twitches at your praise, but the singular bedside lamp is barely enough to light the room. instead of noticing, you gently peel the condom off of his cock and toss it in the trash can underneath the bedside table, then settle back between lewis' legs and let a fat drop of saliva leak onto his cock.

"fuck, if you keep saying things like that i'm not gonna last long," lewis groans, his head thrown back into the pillows.

"oh, you don't want to hear me call you pretty? you don't want me to say that you're one of the most beautiful people i've ever laid eyes on, and that i've waited months to be here just to tell you that?" your hand begins lazily stroking his hard cock as you continue rambling shamelessly, your mind a sex-addled haze that you have nearly no control over. after watching in awe as a pearly bead of precum swells at the head of lewis' cock, you decide that enough is enough and that you have to taste him. your tongue falls out of your mouth, the flat of it brushing up the bottom of his dick until you reach the tip, and then you secure your lips around it, and fuck, if having the taste of lewis' cum on your tongue isn't enough to make your eyes flutter shut for a moment, you don't know what is.

lewis' hand finds itself in your hair, pulling gently as you begin to bob your head along the length of his dick, and you can't help but feel pride bloom in your chest when his hips begin bucking up to meet your mouth and hand, shoving the tip so far back you swear the back of your throat might be slightly bruised in the morning. you moan shamelessly as he does so, letting him fuck your mouth as he pleases until he cums, warm ropes of sticky fluid filling your mouth as he spills into you. pulling off, you swallow part of his load and clean what little remains off of his softening cock with gentle kitten licks, smiling faintly as he whimpers quietly at the oversensitivity. after crawling up to the head of the bed and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, lewis' eyes search yours before dipping down to your mouth. you're a bit confused as his left hand comes up to your face, thinking he's going to kiss you again, but instead, his thumb swipes against the corner of your mouth and pries past your lips, a silent order that you obey willingly. you'd missed one tiny drop of his cum on your cheek. his thumb pops out of your mouth momentarily and you collapse down next to him, the exhaustion of the jam-packed day finally catching up to you.

"i'm gonna go grab a towel to clean you up, yeah?" you nod sleepily, a quiet hum escaping your body. "you're staying here tonight. i won't stand for letting you out of my bed for the next twelve hours." this time, if a question mark could be a sound, that's the noise you make. lewis understands you, though. "we'll take my jet. don't worry about your fight." another content sound from you.

by the time lewis returns to the bed, warm damp washcloth in hand, you're asleep, and he can't help but tuck the strands of hair out of your face after he cleans up your swollen cunt and tucks you into the soft bedding, joining you shortly thereafter.

yeah.

he's fucked.

593 notes · View notes

cakesunflower · 22 days ago

Text

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 23

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: oh my good lord i am sooo sorry for how long it's taken for me to update this i've been down the pitt/mohabbot rabbit hole and im still there but i got out long enough to write this chapter oh boy oh boy im sorry

When Rafe feels someone come stand next to him at the bar, the last person he expects for it to be is John B.

Rafe leans against the bar on his elbow, waiting for one of the bartenders to get their drinks, when John B joins his side. But while Rafe’s pose remains at ease, he can just sense the tension in John B’s body as he leans forward with his arms crossed on the bar. Rafe arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, easily noticing the tic in John B’s jaw, his gaze ahead since he doesn’t look at Rafe just yet.

Things felt civil enough when he and Isla had arrived; he and John B hadn’t shook hands or anything, but it was still progress, in Rafe’s opinion. The fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give a shit about the old Kook versus Pogue mentality that he had lived in for years, not when having that kind of thought process would mean he would lose Isla. She’s far more important to him than old rivalries, and he’s more than ready to move past them and make nice with her—and, in turn, his sister’s—friends if it meant the stress would fall off Isla.

So, instead of running his mouth and antagonizing the situation like his old self would, Rafe simply quietly, and patiently, waits for John B to speak first.

It doesn’t take him long.

“You get it, right, why it’s been hard for us to accept Isla and. . . You,” John B says, speaking haltingly like he was trying to find the right words as he drags his gaze to Rafe’s.

Briefly pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Rafe exhales sharply through his nose. “I get why you guys have a hard time looking past our shit history. I don’t get how it was easy for you to ice Isla out like that,” Rafe replies. He’s trying to be civil, he really is. But then he thinks of how heartbroken Isla has been, how many tears she has shed, and Rafe is filled with the primal, visceral urge to protect her from anything and anyone that could even potentially hurt her. And whatever his history with the Pogues, he hates that her own friends had been the ones to inflict that kind of pain on her.

Though, it’s not surprising. It’s the people you love the most that have the greatest potential to hurt you.

John B’s jaw works and Rafe can tell he’s frustrated. “It wasn’t easy,” John B argues, and when Rafe’s expression remains unconvinced, John B lets out a huff. “It wasn’t,” he insists, his spine straightening. Rafe still has a few inches on him. On all of them, really. “I—Look, it’s not right how we reacted. I know that. But we all just felt. . . Blindsided by your relationship, alright? With everything in our past, none of us really understood why you of all people.”

If Rafe had thinner skin, he’d be more insulted by John B’s words. He won’t lie to himself—it does sting a bit that her friends took one look at his relationship with Isla and immediately wrote it off simply because of him. He gets it and, not for the first time, he regrets all of the shit that has gone down between him and Isla’s friends. The unnecessary fights, provocations, the put-downs. Sure, it was all mutual, each side dishing an equal amount, but it certainly doesn’t gain Rafe any brownie points with the Pogues.

“But—” John B continues, pulling Rafe out of his thoughts as he takes a look at the other guy. John B fiddles the sleeve of his suit jacket, his jaw working. “I miss Isla. We all do. We’re not us without her.”

Rafe shakes his head, releasing an almost disbelieving chuckle. “She’s right there, man,” he says, vaguely gesturing in the direction where she sits with Sarah. “She’s been waiting for you all to get over it, or at the very least, fucking talk to her instead of shutting her out.” He thanks the bartender who places their drinks in front of them, and Rafe pushes one of the glasses towards John B, who looks at the glass briefly before lifting his gaze to meet Rafe’s pointed one. “If you all miss her as much as you’re saying, then do something about it.” Rafe grabs two of the glasses, while John B also takes the one for Sarah. “And, for shit’s sake, get JJ to take back that stupid ultimatum. Get through to him, will you?”

It pisses him off just thinking about it and based on the radio silence Isla has been facing from JJ, Rafe has no doubt he was serious about giving Isla those choices. He has seen the way it weighs on Isla even if she tries to push it away with smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes always. Rafe knows all of her smiles, each of them beautiful in their own way, but it hurts to see the sadness in that specific smile—the one she forces because the pain of her strained relationship with her friends makes her hold back.

“Yeah,” John B responds with a sigh, nodding when Rafe eyes him. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. All of ’em.”

Rafe nods stiffly. While he’s glad that John B will finally get their group to get their heads out of their asses, he’s still a little annoyed that John B didn’t do it already—that it took a conversation with Rafe to kick his ass into gear. Maybe he just needed to see Rafe and Isla together to realize they aren’t fucking around, that their relationship has nothing to do with her friends, and make John B see the truth of it. Whatever. He wishes they just listened to Isla, took her word for it.

He and John B return to the table and Rafe isn’t surprised that Isla and Sarah are eyeing them both curiously, a touch of worry in Isla’s green eyes. Rafe gives her a reassuring smile as they approach them, setting the glasses down on the table as he returns to his seat next to her.

Isla’s hand finds his knee, leaning closer as she whispers, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he tells her truthfully with a smile. “All good, baby.” He takes her hand that’s on his knee and laces their fingers together, feeling her relax under his touch. Rafe presses a kiss to the back of her hand and is relieved to see the smile that curves at her lips, leaning into him more as Rafe mirrors her smile.

From behind her, he sees John B watching them. Rafe sees the smile on the other man’s face and he takes it as a sign that things between Isla and her friends will be looking up.

Cocktail hour passes uneventfully, with Rafe and sometimes Sarah having to make the rounds as Ward’s kids—plus, there are plenty of people here Rafe works with, too. He doesn’t drag Isla around with him and often catches sight of her talking to John B, the two of them far more relaxed with one another as the night progresses. They all have dinner together once the welcoming and keynote speeches are done, and as the tables are being cleared away, John B excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Sarah is pulled into a conversation with someone Rafe vaguely recognizes and Isla turns in her seat to face him. Rafe mirrors her position to face her as well, legs parted to make space for her, his arms resting on his thighs as his back hunches forward a bit, looking up at her. Not for the first time, he’s struck by how stunning she is, effortlessly so. The dress brings out her green eyes, fitting her perfectly, and his blood thrums with the desperate need to peel it off of her, run his fingers along every dip and curve of her body that he already knows intimately well.

“It’s going well, I’d say,” Isla quips with a smile dancing at the edge of her lips as she looks down at him, as she sits with perfect posture and he’s leaned down, weight on his arms resting on his thighs.

“What is?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Her smile widens a bit, showing off dimples he’s brushed his fingers along countless times already. It’s a breath of fresh air, every time he sees her smile. Drives him crazy. “You and John B being in the same room,” she tells him quietly, like it’s a secret between the two of them. “I’m glad you two decided not to give me and Sarah heart burn.”

“Anythin’ for our ladies, I guess,” Rafe replies with a teasing grin, fingers idly running up and down the length of her calves, one of them exposed thanks to the delicious slit of her dress.

Isla huffs out a laugh, her jewelry glimmering under the lights. “What were you two talking about? At the bar?” she asks curiously, fingers idly playing with his tie.

“He told me how he missed you,” Rafe tells her truthfully, watching as Isla’s eyes widen slightly. It kills him, a little, at the idea that that’s so surprising to her. “They all miss you. And I told him there’s a very easy way to fix this, and that he should just talk to the rest of your friends because everything about this is stupid.”

Her lips tremble with the effort of suppressing her laugh, shaking her head as her gaze softens, fond and warm. “I appreciate it,” she says and the way her eyes shine, Rafe knows she means it.

Rafe smiles, giving into the urge to kiss her as he leans towards her, only to be interrupted by Sarah coming to stand next to their chairs. “Hey, sorry,” Sarah says, getting both of their attention as they look up at her. Sarah shoots Rafe a concerned look, and it has his back straightening. “I—John B went to the bathroom a while ago and hasn’t come back. Can you go check?”

Rafe blinks. “You want me to check in on your boyfriend. . . In the bathroom?” he asks slowly, face scrunching up.

Sarah bounces from one leg to another. “I saw Topper head in that direction and I—just—can you please?”

Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, suddenly understanding Sarah’s apprehension. He wouldn’t put it past Topper to corner John B in the bathroom and, frankly, Rafe is pretty sure John B can hold his own. But then he sees Sarah’s, and now Isla’s, worried expressions, and he’s on his feet without much thought. “I’ll check,” he tells them, earning grateful smiles from them both before he turns to walk out of the hall.

He smooths down his tie as he strides out of the room, leaving the party behind as he heads towards the bathrooms. Rafe’s jaw works at the idea of what he might be walking into, though he has a pretty good idea if Topper did, in fact, go to the bathrooms to confront John B, what Rafe is about to see. Topper, it seems, doesn’t know when to quit, and while Rafe didn’t bat an eye when they were friends, it pisses him off now.

Especially when he opens the door to the men's room and sees, unsurprisingly, Topper getting up in John B’s face.

Rafe’s voice is casual as he says, “Any closer and you’ll be kissin’ him, Top.” John B’s gaze meets his around Topper as the bathroom door swings shut behind Rafe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Topper doesn’t turn to look at him. “Nothing we haven’t done before, man,” he answers, his gaze no doubt fixed on John B. It’d be a bet Rafe wins, he knows, as he stares at the back of Topper’s blond head. “What, you here to defend your new friend?” he asks with a sneer that has Rafe rolling his eyes.

Rafe tilts his head slightly. There’s no one else in the bathroom, as far as he can tell. “No. I’m here to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked which, honestly, I don’t really give much of a shit about. But if I were you, I’d back up.”

He notes the tension lining Topper’s shoulders under his suit jacket before he takes a step away from John B and turns to face Rafe. “What, are you two besties now? You’re gonna defend him?” Topper tilts his head. “Weren’t you the one who said he wasn’t good enough for your sister or your family?”

Rafe doesn’t wince or flinch at the words he had spoken in the past being thrown back in his face. Frankly, he has said worse things to John B’s face. Behind Topper, John B doesn’t look upset, either. Whatever Topper’s goal was, he misses it as Rafe levels a flat stare at him. “Yeah, and I also said I’d prefer Sarah dating you over him.” Rafe shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Clearly, I said a lot of shit I was wrong about.”

That, he notices, takes John B by surprise a bit, his eyebrows rising behind Topper. But Rafe is being honest—now that he knows how much Sarah loves John B, and how much that love is returned, he regrets ever questioning their relationship. Now that he has Isla in his life and has gotten a taste of the kind of happiness that comes from being with someone you know, deep in your bones, you are meant to be with, Rafe would never want that to be taken away from his sister.

He thinks he might go crazy if it was taken away from him.

“Unbelievable,” Topper laughs as he gapes at Rafe, bewildered and mocking as he walks over to him. “You’ve become one of them now, is that it? You fuck a Pogue long enough and you turn into one?” His smile is more of a sneer. “Just like your sister, huh?”

Ice freezes over Rafe’s blood as his temper simmers, a protective sort of rage seeping through him. His voice stays eerily steady as he says, “Better watch your mouth, Top. I don’t think John B or I take it too well when people talk about our girls like that.”

He sees how that triggers, so to speak, Topper. The idea of Rafe accepting John B as Sarah’s boyfriend, even though they’ve been together for a year, pisses Topper off, clearly. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing with fists curling at his sides. And maybe the guy is stupider than Rafe could see before, because he steps up to Rafe, obviously trying to be intimidating and falling short. Rafe would laugh, if it weren’t for Topper musing, “Maybe I should get myself a Pogue.” He flicks the front of Rafe’s tie, widening his eyes in feigned wonder. “Hey, you think Isla would be interested in taking turns? Maybe I can see what the hype’s about, since Sarah’s been pretty used throu—”

It was Topper’s own fault, really, for thinking he’d be able to finish that sentence without taking a hit.

The adrenaline numbs Rafe to the pain in his knuckles right after it collides with Topper’s jaw. The blond stumbles back and John B locks his arms around him, pinning Topper’s own arms to the side as he struggles and thrashes against John B’s grip, but it’s tight and unrelenting. John B’s expression is hard, lips curled in a sneer as he prevents Topper from swinging back at Rafe.

Topper’s lip is bleeding, his teeth having cut it upon Rafe’s fist’s impact, and Rafe steps towards him, flexing his fingers and feeling the tension and sting as he grips the lapels of Topper’s suit jacket. He sees the anger in Topper’s blue eyes, the curl of his bleeding lip as he’s forced to still in his struggle. Rafe easily towers over him and a primal sort of satisfaction rushes through him at the flicker of fear in Topper’s eyes, rearing back as far as he can, but John B is right there, not giving him much room to cower.

Rafe’s voice is dangerously low, the intent to put Topper’s head through a wall loudly clear in his tone. “Let’s get one thing clear, Thornton—I’m sick of you actin’ as if you’re owed something by everyone. You walk around picking fights with people you think have fucked you over, but you’re only embarrassing yourself.” Rafe’s grip on Topper’s jacket tightens, his blood boiling and pulse rapidly firing. “If you ever think about Isla and Sarah again, I’m going to ruin your fucking life. You won’t be able to show your face in the entire state if you keep this bullshit up. Not even your judge grandpa will be able to save you. You fucking get me?”

Indignation swims in Topper’s eyes, staring at Rafe as if he’s never seen him before. “You’re throwing away seventeen years of friendship for—”

“Yeah,” Rafe says tightly, not bothering to let Topper finish. “I am.”

He lets go of him then, his gaze meeting John B’s behind Topper, who waits a beat before he lets Topper go. Topper shoves away, straightening himself and his suit jacket out, his gaze never straying from Rafe. A trickle of blood leaks from the corner of Topper’s mouth, his perfectly styled hair in slight disarray, which makes Rafe feel more satisfied than it should.

He stares at Topper, though, and Rafe can feel their near two decade long friendship crumbling between them. Topper’s been his longest, oldest friend; they’ve known each other since pre-school, have made countless memories together, raised plenty of hell. Rafe knows that things have been shifting between them as he was becoming more familiar with his feelings for Isla, as the two of them started going out. The whole Kooks versus Pogues mentality seems so far away to him now, and he wishes that the same could be said for Topper.

But it’s abundantly clear that while Rafe has started a new chapter in his life, Topper has fallen far behind.

And it hurts, if he’s being honest, to see their friendship implode. But Rafe also isn’t going to let Topper get away with the shit he spews about his girlfriend and sister. The friendship, despite its longevity, isn’t worth that.

Topper pulls out his handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket, glaring at Rafe as he wipes at the blood on his face. “You’ve lost your damn mind,” he mutters with a shake of his head, moving to walk past him. He throws him and John B another dirty look, sharper towards John B and—more hurt towards Rafe, who swallows down the tightness in his throat. “Fuck this.”

He storms out, the door falling shut behind him, and the bathroom is left in a tense silence. Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, fingers once again flexing at his side as he looks down at them, taking in the harsh redness already forming where the skin broke a bit. Slowly, the tension seeps out of his muscles—very slowly, and the silence of the bathroom is broken when John B speaks up.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says idly, straightening the front of his shirt and suit jacket as well.

Rafe exhales roughly through his nose. “It was a long time coming,” he corrects with a mutter as he looks at him. He looks fine, but Rafe still asks, “You good, man?”

There’s a flicker of surprise in John B’s dark eyes before it disappears and he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright.” His gaze dips to Rafe’s hand. “What about you? Might need to ice that hand.”

“I’ll live,” Rafe says with a short chuckle before he lifts his chin. The air shifts, not as tense, but he still looks John B in the eye and asks meaningfully, “We good?”

John B stares at him for a beat before he lets out a breath as well, the corners of his lips tipping up in an accepting smile. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

Rafe nods, feeling more relieved than he anticipated, and he and John B leave the bathroom to head back to the party. He doesn’t look to see where Topper scurried off to as he and John B head back to the table. Rafe’s knuckles aren’t bleeding, but they are a bit raw, and he doesn’t have a hope in hiding it because the second they near the table where Isla and Sarah are sitting, his girlfriend immediately clocks the injury.

“What happened?” she asks, alarmed but hushed as she gets to her feet, her hands immediately grasping his—gingerly, her fingers holding his as she looks at the raw knuckles with concern creasing her forehead.

Even Sarah stands up, coming over to them with her eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s not a big deal,” Rafe assures them and despite the tension from earlier, he feels a smile ease onto his face as he gets crowded by his girlfriend and sister.

Sarah shakes her head. “You punched Topper?” she asks, disbelief coloring her tone. And a hint of laughter, if he listens for it.

Isla looks up at him, eyes slightly wide in surprise. He shoots her a flat look that has the corners of her mouth curving up. Before either of them can say anything, a hand appears holding a bag of ice, wrapped in one of the white cloth napkins. All three of their heads follow the hand that leads to John B, who raises his eyebrows at a surprised looking Rafe.

“It’ll help with the swelling,” he says, gaze unwavering, and when Rafe takes it with his uninjured hand, it feels like accepting an olive branch.

“Thanks,” Rafe says genuinely with a dip of his chin, which John B returns, as Rafe places it on his knuckles. His gaze flickers, then, and he catches Isla and Sarah looking between the two of them as if they both grew a second head. When he looks back at John B, the brunette is clearly fighting back a smile, and Rafe finds himself huffing out a laugh as he looks back at a bewildered Isla and Sarah. “You two are gonna dry your eyes out if you don’t blink soon.”

“What is going on.” Sarah asks, though it comes out more as a statement, a demand.

John B drops an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, grinning. “We kissed and made up,” he says with a casual shrug.

It has Rafe snorting out a laugh, surprisingly enough, even as he sucks in a quiet breath when he adjusts the ice on his knuckles. Isla grimaces, still holding his hand from the bottom, as Sarah shakes her head, blinking at Rafe and John B. “I’m so confused.”

Isla cracks a smile in her direction. “Don’t question it.” She looks back at Rafe, her voice quieting, just for him as she looks up at him through long eyelashes and asks, “Are you okay?”

Rafe meets her gaze, the world around them slipping away as he sees the way she searches his eyes. He knows, right then, she doesn’t mean just physically. That she knows what it’s like to be on opposite sides of a friendship, and that something fundamentally has broken between him and Topper. But right now, Rafe can’t make sense of it all.

So he gives her a gentle smile and responds, “Ask me again later?” and, to his relief, she nods after a beat of hesitation.

“Uh, should we leave before Dad finds out you punched someone at this party?” Sarah pipes up, brown eyes darting around the room.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. “If Dad knew what Topper was saying, he wouldn’t be upset.” He blows out a breath through his nose. “But I’m ready to head out,” he adds, glancing at Isla in question, who nods in agreement.

John B smiles. “I know a place we can go.”

*****

If anyone had told Rafe, months ago, that he would be having a beer in John B’s backyard—in the backyard of the Chateau—Rafe would’ve laughed in your face. Maybe said something rude and condescending for even suggesting such a thing.

Yet here he sits, in one of the hammocks even, with a cold beer in his hand and legs spread so Isla could slot hers in the space in between. Through the leaves of the trees around them, Rafe sees the clear dark sky, stars winking in and out of existence as the hammock gently sways under their weight. John B and Sarah are in the next one, their positions mirroring his and Isla’s, and it all feels a little surreal to Rafe.

Inside the Chateau, a few of the lights are on where Big John hangs out. Rafe hadn’t missed the surprise in his eyes from behind his wiry sunglasses when he realized Rafe was accompanying the group of them, but the man had greeted and welcomed him with the same kind of friendliness he always did whenever Rafe happened to see him. Which is a little more than often, given that Big John and Rafe’s dad are friends.

“I’m thinking another boneyard party,” John B muses thoughtfully, his head resting back as he, too, gazes up.

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, because the last one definitely wasn’t broken up by the cops.”

But Isla hums with a smile. “But the last one did have a hand in us getting together,” she says, meeting his gaze.

Rafe grins, remembering that night well. John B looks between them. “Wait, really?”

Isla nods, chuckling. “Remember I said some touron gave me a ride home after we all split up when the cops came?” John B nods and Isla jerks her chin at Rafe. “My knight on a shining motorcycle.”

Sarah feigns a sniff, one hand to her chest and the other wiping a fake tear. “He does have a heart.”

“You’re so funny,” Rafe says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, but Sarah’s responding laughter has him shaking his head with a small smile of his own. His eyes land on Isla opposite of him and she’s watching him with that gentle smile, one that hints at her dimples, and Rafe’s chest tightens at the sight of her.

Still in her dress, though this time his suit jacket is draped over her shoulders to shield her from the night chill. “It was very sweet,” Isla tells Sarah and John B with a smile before her gaze flicks back to Rafe. She’s looking at him as she tells the couple in the next hammock, “He didn’t have to save my ass, but I’m glad he did.” Rafe’s pulse thumps happily as she nudges her painted toes against his hip where her legs are stretched out next to him. “Who knows if we’d be here if he hadn’t?”

Rafe watches her, unable to see anything or anyone else. “I would’ve found a way,” he replies, the words wrapped in a vow.

Isla’s smile widens, dimple deepening. He loves the sight of them. To his right, he hears John B groan. “Ugh, you were right. They are cute together.”

Both Rafe and Isla look over at them, catching Sarah’s grin and John B’s head shake, though he seems to be hiding his own smile in his next sip of beer. Hearing John B say that clearly delights Isla, green eyes shining in the dark, and Rafe finds himself appreciative of John B’s words, too.

Sarah just grins smugly, triumphantly. “I love being right.”

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hyunniesgirl · 2 years ago

Text

Another Love | part 1

Summary: you've been hopelessly in love with Han since you were children. One night you confess your feelings to him.

Words count: 8,539

Warnings for this part: lots of angst, drunk people, drunk Han is petty asf

A/N: So I made that pool asking if I should post this fic in chapters or a 20,000+ words chapter and the long ass chapter won but at the time my mind told me I would be able to finish the whole fic before posting it... Jokes on me I need validation and feedback for me to write so yeah let's do this in chapters, sorry

A/N2: I had this idea for quite some time now but got suddenly inspired listening to the song another love.

You're done. Really, you can't take it anymore. You've known Han Jisung since elementary school, you have been basically joined at the hip since then, your parents even became best friends because of you two.

You don't know exactly when you fell in love with him, was it on your second day at school when he invited you to play with him because he noticed you were all alone? Was it when someone made an awkward joke about your messed up hair cut in second grade and he picked a fight with them? Maybe it was the very first moment you laid eyes on him, joking around with everyone and being the most popular kid in the classroom. You really can't remember, but the thing you're sure of is: Han Jisung doesn't like you back.

You've always known that, but inside you there was a tiny bit of hope that one day he would wake up and suddenly love you back.

That didn't happen though. You are now 23 and he has never ever shown the smallest amount of romantic interest in you.

"That's fine", you thought to yourself, ever since you realized your feelings for him, "I'm going to stay with him his entire life, that doesn't sound so bad"

Until it started to sound really bad. What are you gonna do? See him getting a girlfriend, then getting engaged and eventually married? Would you always be there on the sidelines listening to his lovesick whines about the woman he loves so much? Would you be the godmother to his children? By then, would you have gotten over him already? Or would you keep this up forever, marrying someone just because you can't stay alone and being in love with your best friend for the rest of your life? That was the moment you knew you had to stop, you can't keep this up.

Coincidentally Han broke up with his last girlfriend a few months ago, you thought that would be a good opportunity for you to be his rebound, yeah, pretty dignified of you.

So you dress up really pretty, hair up, a dress that always made Han compliment you and to finish it off—the necklace he gave you on your 12th birthday.

You think this is it, this is the day you're going to tell him how much you love him and maybe, just maybe he will contemplate giving you a chance.

When he arrives at your shared apartment, with two cans of beer and fried chicken, you give him a cheerful greeting, setting the table and trying to gather courage to speak.

"So, how was practice?", you begin, maybe some small talk will help you relax.

"It was good, we are almost done with the album", he says, typing something on his phone. "How was your day?", he asks, putting the device on the table and looking at you.

"Good, I had class in the morning and tutoring in the afternoon", you take a sip of your beer, "one of the mothers actually recommended me to other parents and I'm gonna start tutoring more students next week"

He smiles, "that's good, you're really smart"

You blush, bringing the back of your hands to your face to try and lessen the hot skin of your cheeks with the cold of your hands.

"Actually, I want to talk to you", you start, it's now or never.

"Sure-", Jisung stops mid sentence when his phone buzzes. "Just a minute", he looks at the screen and smiles, your heart sinks at the sight. You know that smile too well, you have seen it dozens of times. You feel your insides turning over. It's the smile meant only for the person he likes.

"Hey, Lia. Yeah, totally, I can talk right now", he picks up the call and once again asks you for a minute lifting his index finger, he walks towards the balcony and closes the glass door after going through it.

He's laughing about something, is she even that funny or is he just trying to win her favor? She's pretty, you know it. All of his girlfriends looked like models. You sigh, looking at yourself and feeling awful, suddenly you don't feel pretty anymore, you actually feel ridiculous.

Why did you think things would change just because you got brave enough to speak up? Jisung sees you as a best friend and nothing more, you have to come to terms with that.

Your mind is rushing, thinking about what you're going to do now? Can you keep being friends with him? Yeah, of course, he's your best friend, you won't end your friendship because you can't control your feelings. But you'll need time, right? You won't be able to get over this unrequited love if you keep seeing him everyday, doing everything with him and sleeping in the same house.

"So, what do you want to talk about?", he asks, sitting again. You didn't even notice he had come back inside.

You sigh, you'll tell him about it all and then you'll find the strength in you to move on.

"I like you", you say so low you're not sure he heard you. But he did, he smiles and chuckles.

"I like you too, we're best friends for a reason", he stretches his arm to take a fried chicken.

"No, I like like you", you admit, hugging yourself, feeling cold suddenly, you look around and see Han left the door to the balcony open. "I've been in love with you since I can remember", you complete.

The look on his face would be funny if it wasn't tragic, his brows are furrowed in confusion and his eyes have a very familiar look: fear. Of course, he's afraid of losing his best friend, you already guessed that much.

"Y/N I-", you notice his breathing quickening. "I'm sorry, I never knew", he says, shoulders slumping, his arms dropping to the side of his body.

"Yeah, I know you didn't", you say. He's still staring at you with so much hurt in his eyes. Jisung knows he will have to turn you down and it's going to hurt him a lot, but not as much as it will hurt you and he never ever wanted to hurt you.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say", he takes a deep breath, "I never thought about you in that way, I'm really sorry, I don't feel the same"

You're not going to cry, you decided that the moment you saw fear in his eyes. It's not his fault you like him, he can't fall in love with you just because you love him. You're not going to cry and make him feel worse than you can tell he's already feeling. But listening to those words it's worse than you could have expected, you feel like the world is crumbling around you.

"I know you don't", you smile sadly.

He looks more confused now.

"Then, why did you tell me?"

"It's just… I'm done with all this", you reply, getting up from your chair.

"Done with our friendship?" Han can feel all the air leaving his body while he waits for your answer.

You chuckle, fidgeting with your foot.

"No, I don't think I could ever be done with that", you smile trying to reassure him and he feels so relieved. "I can't keep doing this, I can't continue seeing you with other people and stay hurting alone"

"I can stop bringing people to the apartment and I'll never talk about them around you", he says trying to help and your stomach sinks a lot more. Why does he have to be so sweet?

"Actually, I'll need some time", you clear your throat, "I think I'm going to stay with Seungmin for the time being, he is looking for a roommate"

Han's eyes widen and he gets up, walking towards you.

"What are you talking about? Are you going to move out?"

"It's not something definitive, I'm going to stay there until he finds a new roommate and come back after that", you take a step back, noticing how close he is to you. "Luckily by then I'll be over you, I think I just need some personal space for now, where you're not there everytime I look, or your things aren't mixed with mine or your scent isn't around every room"

"Will you still speak to me?", he asks, he wants to hug you, to hold you in his arms and say how sorry he is for not feeling the same. But he knows he can't, the best thing he can do is to keep his distance from you right now.

"I think we should keep it restricted to apartment things for now, I'll keep paying my half of the rent since my things will still be here"

"You don't have to pay if you're not here"

Ever since Jisung started making good money he insisted that you didn't have to pay for rent since you only work part time as a tutor to pay for your living expenses but you always refused. Even though he earns a lot more than you it wouldn't be fair for him to be the only one paying and honestly, you felt that if he was the only one paying for it, you would feel too much like you were a couple.

"No, I'll pay you. This arrangement doesn't change the fact that we still share the apartment"

He nods, looking down, the awkward silence making you sick.

"I'm really sorry I hurt you", he whispers and all the crying you avoided over this whole conversation threatens to come out at that exact moment.

"It's not your fault", you say, "I'm sorry I made things awkward, just give me some time and we'll be back to how things were, okay?", you give him a reassuring smile even though you're not sure things will ever go back to the way it was.

You wake up feeling like shit, you cried your eyes out the moment you stepped into Seungmin's apartment. He was so sweet to you, staying awake until you calmed down and even offered you his room for you to sleep but you refused. He was already doing you a favor by letting you stay on his couch until he found a roommate.

You sit, stretching yourself, you slept pretty comfortably but all the stress from last night left your muscles sore.

"Are you feeling better?", you hear Seungmin's voice and look at the kitchen, he's making coffee. That reminds you of all the days you woke Han up with a nice and hot coffee so he wouldn't be in a bad mood waking up so early.

"I don't think so", you answer, shaking your head like that would make your thoughts disappear. "Can you get me some of that?", you ask and he smiles.

"Already on it", you start tidying up the blanket and the pillow you used.

"What are you going to do today?", Seungmin asks while you sit at the table.

"I have some tutoring to do and class in the afternoon, maybe I'll go shopping with Hannah later"

"That's good, try to keep yourself entertained at least for the next couple of days", he hands you the mug and you nod.

All your friends knew about your crush on Han and you made all of them swear they wouldn't tell him. You were afraid things would be awkward now, since Han was their friend before you met them, but they all showed you support now that you had confessed.

Hannah had offered you to stay with her, but she has a roommate that's really strict about everything in their apartment and you don't want to cause trouble to your friend by staying there. Luckily Seungmin's last roommate had moved a couple of weeks ago and he was looking for someone new, but by the way he's picky that's not going to happen so soon.

"Since I'll be staying here and you won't accept money because I won't be using a room, the groceries will be on me and I won't accept no for an answer", you say finishing your coffee and getting up. Seungmin sighs, rolling his eyes.

"I know you're going to buy it anyway, so I'll accept it"

"Then send me a list of whatever you need and I'll buy it tonight or tomorrow", you blow him a kiss, picking your bag from the floor and heading to the bathroom.

You take a long, hot, refreshing shower and pick some comfortable clothes to go to your tutoring session.

Seungmin's already gone when you go back to the kitchen, there's a message from him on your phone.

Minnie: I left some sliced fruit in the fridge for you, eat before going out.

Minnie: I'll send you the list later btw

You smile, having someone taking care of you is nice. For a second, it makes you forget the reason why you're there to begin with.

You feel like crying again, but you can't show up to your students house with red eyes and a puffy face.

The parents that are near each other usually ask you to teach their children together in longer sessions. That strengthens the bond the kids have while strengthening the connection between the families. That usually happens when the families are wealthy, they see an opportunity in their children's friendship to get on each other's good side.

Your parents started hanging out with Jisung's parents too, not because of connections but because you two were always in each other's houses. Once, you broke your arm falling from a tree you tried to climb following Han, his mother had to call yours and calm her down on the phone the entire time your mother was driving to the hospital to meet you. That day you got scolded by both and after they finished the lecture they looked at each other and smiled, bonding over the fear of something happening to their precious child.

When they went out to buy some coffee and talk, Jisung sat by the side of your hospital bed, lips pouting and tearing up.

"I'm sorry I dared you to follow me all the way up there", he says, taking the hand of your good arm and holding it.

"It's okay, now at least I have an exciting story to tell the others", you say and he smiles, whipping his eyes.

The noise of the gate opening wakes you up from your daydream, you have to stop thinking about Han if you want to get over him.

The kids come running in your direction the moment the housekeeper opens the door.

"Miss Y/N, look I got a 9.5 on my test", the girl smiles brightly showing you the paper with the grade marked in red.

"Woah, Misu, you're so smart, I don't think you even need me anymore", you bend to her height and she pouts, sometimes she acts like a little child when she's already 12.

"Of course I need you, you're the prettiest and smartest person I know", she says and you hear someone clear their throats by the stairs. It's Misu's mother.

"If I didn't agree with her I'd be hurt", she says and you smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Kim, I only helped a little, Misu's really smart", you say and the girl shows you her white teeth, looking at her mother and waiting for some praise.

"Of course she is", she pats the girl's head. "Eun, aren't you going to say hi to Y/N?"

The boy is a few months younger than Misu but a lot more shy. You saw him coming with her when you arrived but got so engrossed in your conversation that forgot he was there in silence.

"Hello, miss Y/N", he says, polite as ever.

"Hi, Eun, did you get a good grade like Misu?"

He nods, showing you his test with 9.8 marked in red.

"He's smarter than me", Misu pouts.

"Congratulations, Eun", you say, patting his head, making him blush and you smile. "I think you are both really smart and I'm here to help you get even smarter"

Mrs. Kim tells you to go ahead and start the lesson and invites you to stay for lunch. You were pretty lucky with the parents you met till now, all of them were nice to you and cared a great deal about their children so it's a lighthearted job to do.

The kids are indeed smart, usually you don't have to explain the same thing more than twice and they always ask a lot of questions during your time with them.

A week goes by since you last saw Jisung, fortunately he didn't try contacting you. You're sure that if he did you'd break hearing his voice and would beg for him to like you back, giving up on any pride you still have left.

You arrive at school an hour before your classes begin, you're meeting Hannah at the cafe nearby so you can talk a bit.

You look at your phone, there's a message from her saying she's on the bus but the traffic is awful so she might be a little bit late.

You choose a table by the window, contemplating if you should order already or wait till Hannah arrives.

Looking outside, you remember the moment you heard the news that you got into this university. Yours and Jisung's family were at your parents house, you both were seated on the couch when you received the message saying the college entrance results came out. You couldn't type your information, you were trembling so much Han had to do it for you.

When you read your name and the word "accepted" you actually screamed, making your mother drop the plate she had in hands. Your father and Han's came running to see what happened when Jisung showed them the screen.

Your mother and father embraced you, telling how proud they were of you and Jisung's parents did the same, like you were their own daughter.

Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, spinning you and making you burst out laughing. That moment was so good, you wanted to stay there forever.

"Earth to Y/N", you hear Hanna's voice and snap out of your thoughts, sighing. "Is everything okay?", she asks, worried.

"Yeah, I'm good", you say and she narrows her eyes, knowing you are not telling the truth.

Hannah left it at that though, you are going through a hard time and she doesn't want to push it.

Honestly, she don't expect you to be fine. Your lifelong crush had rejected you and to make things worse he is your best friend, so yeah, of course you are not okay.

"Then, I'm going to order", she drops her bag in the seat in front of you, "your usual?"

You nod, seeing her walk to the cashier. You met Hannah three years ago, when you started college. She's the total opposite of you, really outgoing and a total social butterfly, it seems those are the people you attract seeing how Han is the same.

She sat by your side on the first day, making a random joke and making you laugh, that's how she became your best friend. You didn't even have to tell her about your one sided love, she had to see only one interaction between you and Jisung to know exactly what was going on.

She is the one that urged you to tell him about your feelings and was very adamant about you moving on from him, she couldn't let you waste all your 20's being in love with someone that didn't like you back… or not the way you wanted to.

"So, I heard about a party", Hannah says, putting the pager on the table and sitting in front of you.

"There's like a hundred of those, you have to be more specific", you joke and she rolls her eyes.

"You know that guy from English literature? The one that dyed his hair pink last semester?"

"Yeah, it's kinda hard to forget about him", you laugh.

When Yunho came to school with pink hair a rumor of him becoming an idol started going around, everyone tried to be nice to him and all that shit but it turned out he just lost a bet.

"He's hosting this party in like a really big fancy place to celebrate his graduation", she finishes.

"That's nice", you say, fidgeting with your fingers under the table.

"Hmmm, are we going to go or what?", she asks and you glance at her.

"Were we invited?"

"Ahm, you're hot and I'm hot, why wouldn't we be invited?"

You laugh, knowing what she's doing. Hannah is more sensible than you give her credit for, you really thought she would ask about everything that happened on that night, but instead she has been trying to distract you for the past week and that is really nice of her.

She smiles, seeing you smile. Hannah knows you never give enough credit to yourself, you never think you're pretty enough, funny enough, cool enough or smart enough even though you're those things and much more. She approached you on your first day because there's just something about you, something bright and cheerful. When people are upset, mad or sad you always do your best to make them feel better, so Hannah felt this was her time to cheer you up.

The pager buzzes on the table and she gets up, going to the counter to get your orders.

You look at her coming back with a big grin in her lips, handing you the coffee with a note glued to the cup sleeve.

"To the girl with the yellow cardigan, I see you coming here often and I think you're cute, maybe we can hangout sometime? If you're up to it, text me: xxx xxxx-xxxx"

You blush, looking at the counter and seeing the cutest guy looking at you with flushed cheeks. He's so red you can see it from where you're seated. He smiles waving at you and you wave back.

Hannah has one eyebrow lifted looking at your interaction and you feel your cheeks even hotter.

"So, are you going to text him?", she asks, reading the note and you sigh.

"I don't think so", you say, sipping at your coffee.

"Why not?"

"I don't think it would be fair to someone if I start something with them when I'm still in love with someone else", you answer and Hannah sighs.

"Yeah, you have a point", she pouts, "but like, maybe messing around a little won't hurt? I mean, he's not in love with you or anything, you can talk with each other and see where things go"

Hannah's right and you know it. Even though it's still too soon, you should try meeting new people, you're not going to get over Han just by staying away from him.

This feelings, you have it with you for so long, it's hard to let it go. Loving Han is the only romantic feeling you have ever known, it's scary to walk off of this thing you know so well to something completely new.

You have to, though. It's the only way for your friendship to keep existing. So you nod to Hannah, taking your phone out of your pocket and dialing the number written on the cup, seconds later you're typing a message.

You: Hey, it's the girl in the yellow cardigan, my name is Y/N btw

You send and hear a ping, you thought he would have his phone on silent mode and sudden embarrassment creeps up when you see him taking his phone out of the pocket of his apron.

Cute guy: Hey, I was afraid of making you uncomfortable, so let me apologize first. I just didn't know how to approach you

Cute guy: Ah, and I'm Heeseung

You change the name in his contact before replying.

You: it didn't make me uncomfortable and thank you for calling me cute.

Heeseung: you don't have to thank me for telling the truth.

You giggle, it's interesting to feel like this, even though you can tell it's something temporary.

You: lol, you're really smooth.

"Let's go?", Hannah says, smirking at you and you blush. You nod, picking your things up and getting up from the table, you wave goodbye to Heeseung before going out and he smiles brightly at you.

>><<

The morning after you went away, Han woke up feeling awful, all the things that happened the previous night coming back at him at the same time. He was sure the moment you walked out of the door, giving him your best smile and trying not to cry was the saddest he ever felt in his entire life. You were his best friend, you were everything to him, he felt like shit because he never noticed your feelings. He doesn't know what he would have done if he knew, but maybe he could have been better, talking less about his relationships and especially not bringing his hook ups to the apartment.

He got up, feeling like crying everytime he had to pass by your bedroom door, knowing you were not there and wouldn't be for far too long, all because of him. The bell rings and he runs to the door, hoping it's you, hoping you'll tell him everything was a joke and that you didn't actually like him. Even though he knows you wouldn't press the doorbell since you know the password and he knows the hurt in your eyes when he said he didn't feel the same as you was no joke.

So it was no surprise when he opened the door and found Chan and Changbin there. They did tell him they were going to stop by in the morning to pick him up but with all the things that happened he just forgot about it.

"Are you okay? You look like shit", Changbin says entering the house.

Chan looks at Han, worried.

"Are you sick?", he asks, "where's Y/N?" He knows you wouldn't leave Han alone if he were sick, but you would have shown up already by hearing Changbin's loud voice.

"She's gone", Han says, running his hands through his hair.

"What do you mean?", Chan asks with wide eyes.

"She- she confessed to me and I turned her down", he says, maybe he should have told you he could like you back, that way he wouldn't be feeling this way and you'd still be there with him.

"Shit", Changbin says, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Han looks at the both of them, why don't they look surprised?

"You guys knew about it?" He asks, a little louder than his usual voice and the boys exchange a look. "Woah, thanks for the heads up"

He shouldn't be mad at them, it's not their fault, but he's already too mad at himself so he doesn't know where else to put the blame.

"It was not our place to tell you", Chan says.

"Does everyone know?", Han asks and Changbin nods, "so I was the only one? Am I dumb or something?"

Chan sighs, "it's not really your fault for not knowing, you probably are used to the way Y/N looks and talks to you because you're best friends since you were children, but to the people outside it is pretty clear from the get go that she likes you"

"But where did she go? Are you not friends anymore?", Changbin asks the difficult questions and Chan glares at him.

"She said she will be staying with Seungmin till he finds a roommate and then she's going to come back"

"She probably just needs some time", Chan says, putting a hand on Han's shoulder trying to reassure him, and he really hopes that's the case.

>><<

You've been texting Heeseung for a few days now and he's pretty nice, he's a dance major and works part time at the cafe to pay for living expenses the same as you do with tutoring.

Hannah had convinced you to go to Yunho's party and get wasted, saying you need the college life experience the most now that you had your first heartbreak but you don't want to think about that, you want to forget that you ever loved Han Jisung.

So you drink a whole bottle of wine before leaving for the party, Seungmin's coming with you and Hannah will meet you there. You are looking good, or maybe it's the alcohol that makes you feel good, your hair is down, you're wearing a black lace cropped top you borrowed from Hannah, with a much lower neckline than you are used to, high waisted jeans and black boots.

The party is already crowded when you and Seungmin get there and it's really a fancy place like Hannah told you.

"Let's grab a drink", you yell to Seungmin.

"You should drink water, you're already drunk", he demands and you show your tongue to him.

"Nooooo, don't be a killjoy"

He sighs, it's hard to convince you of something when you're sober, it's even harder when you're drunk.

"You can have a drink after you drink a cup of water", he tells you and you nod, sounds like a win win for you.

After drinking a whole cup of water you show it to him, waiting for a praise and Seungmin rolls his eyes. What are you, a 10 year old?

"Good job, now you can drink", he gives you a cup with something mixed in it, "but you have to drink some water for each drink you take, okay?"

"Okay, dad", you joke, sipping your drink.

Seungmin knows a lot of people at the party and you feel left out every time someone approaches him so you're really happy when Hannah shows up, with a much taller boy accompanying her.

"Look who I found", she says pointing at him.

"Heeseung?", you scream, startling Seungmin who's close to you.

"Jesus, Y/N, calm down", he says putting his hand over his ear, "I'm a singer, I can't lose my hearing", he says and you pout, whining an apology even though you know he's not really mad.

"I didn't know you were gonna be here", Heeseung gets closer to you, side eyeing Seungmin.

"I didn't want to come, Hannah made me", you tell him, "this is Seungmin, he's my friend"

He nods at the boy by your side, relaxing to hear you call Seungmin a friend.

"Hey, Minnie, let's go dance?", Hannah says and Seungmin narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"I don't dance", he answers, crossing his arms and she sighs.

"For fucking sake, just come with me", she says and Seungmin follows her without more questions, he knows too well not to mess with her when she gets angry.

"You look really pretty", Heeseung says, bending a little to lessen the difference in your height. You blush even though it's not as good hearing him saying that as it was when Han complimented you, but you're trying to get over that, aren't you?

"Thanks, you look hot too", you hiccup, you don't have a filter when you're drunk. He smiles, turning around on the table and pouring you a cup of water.

"Drink this, it's going to help", he hands it to you.

"Thank you, you're so sweet and handsome", you yell again but he doesn't flinch like Seungmin did.

"You can't keep saying these kinds of things and not want me to kiss you", he says and you smile, sly.

"Who says I don't want that?", the moment he comprehends what you just said his face reddens, and he thought he was being bold.

"Once you sober up we can talk about that", he tells you and you pout. You wanted to kiss him now, maybe if you did all the hurt you were feeling would go away. Maybe you just needed someone to make you forget about Jisung.

"But I want it now", you cross your arms, behaving like a child that didn't get their way.

"Do you like dancing?", he changes the subject. Your face brightens with his question.

"I LOVE dancing", you show him the choreography to queencard that's playing on the dance floor and he laughs at your messy steps, he's sure you're much better at it while sober.

"Then drink this and let's dance", he hands you another cup of water.

"Seungmin told me I could have a drink after a cup of water, but this makes two cups of water and no drink", you point out and Heeseung can't help but find the drunk you really cute.

"This water will help you so you won't have a bad hangover tomorrow", he says and you nod, that's a good point.

Super by seventeen starts playing and you finish downing the water, grabbing Heeseung's hand and dragging him to the dance floor.

Being a dance major, of course he knows the steps and he's so good there are moments you just stop and watch him in a daze. Actually, he knows the steps to every song playing after that too, you dance so much you're all sweaty and your legs are tired. You're totally sober now, feeling ecstatic. It's so good being at a party having so much fun.

You're jumping and smiling until you see him.

You stop in your tracks seeing Han Jisung staring at you from the other side of the dance floor, your smile fades away as soon as your eyes lock with his.

He looks sick, he lost a lot of weight considering the short period of time you haven't seen each other and he wasn't smiling like he always did. He takes a step in your direction and you automatically step away, your stomach sinking.

You're feeling your heart beat so fast it's overlapping with the loud music, you gulp feeling your legs weaken, why the hell are you having this reaction? He's the same Han Jisung you've known since you were a child, the only difference now is that he knows how you feel about him.

You can't avoid him until you get over your feelings, that won't work and you know it, you have to get used to being near him feeling nothing other than friendship, but you can't see him at that moment, you just can't. You're having fun, there's a handsome guy with you and you want to like him and not Jisung.

You grab Heeseung's hand and pull him away from the dance floor, walking outside so you can breathe some fresh air.

"Did something happen?", he asks, looking confused and worried.

"It just felt stiff in there for a moment", you say and he nods.

You didn't want to explain to him why you were not speaking to your best friend and how messed up your relationship with Han is right now. You want to forget about it and your way of doing it is right by your side, handsome and available.

"So, about that thing you said we could do once I sobered up… I'm sober now", you say and he blushes, analyzing you for a moment to see if you are telling the truth.

The last drink you took was more than an hour ago and you drank so much water after that, it's a miracle you still don't have to use the toilet.

"I don't want to do something you'll regret later", he says and you appreciate how considerate he is. But right now you don't want someone considerate, you want someone that'll sweep you off your feet and help you forget what you so desperately want to. So you get closer, caging him against the wall and tiptoeing, trying to get closer to his face.

"If you don't want to, it's okay. But if you're holding back because you think I'm drunk, I'm not", that was his cue to kiss you. His lips crashing sloppily onto yours, hands cupping your face then moving down to your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck trying to get closer than you already are. He's good, you've kissed enough people in your life to know that, yet you feel sick.

You feel bad and like a horrible person because you just know he can't compare to Jisung even though you never kissed your best friend.

You feel bad thinking about someone else while kissing Heeseung, he's so nice and sweet and you know he's not fooling around, if you give him the chance he's going to truly like you and you're only using him.

You step away sighing, seeing his brows furrowed and the confusion in his eyes.

"Was it that bad?", he jokes but you can see he's feeling hurt. "I'm not trying to brag, but I never got a reaction like that after a kiss"

You smile apologetically, looking for words to explain yourself.

"It was great and you're great", you begin, "I think you're too sweet, that's why I can't lead you on"

"What are you talking about?" he asks, even more confused.

"I'm in love with someone else and I know it sounds awful, I did try to get over him with you but I feel like you'll really like me if we don't stop right now and I'm not sure if I'll be able to be that person for you", you look at him, seeing the disappointment in his face. "I'm sorry, I'm a terrible person and you can hate me if you want"

He stares at you for a few moments, sighing and giving you a reassuring smile after.

"I don't think you're terrible, I think you're truly brave for coming clean like that", you're relieved, you were afraid he would say something mean and even though you feel like you deserve it, you're really fragile right now. "Thank you for telling me before I got too deep into this and I don't know, maybe we can be friends?"

"Absolutely, I would love that"

"So, do you want to go back inside?", he asks and you shake your head.

"I don't think so, I should probably go home", you say, you don't want to go back there to see Han again.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"It's okay, I'm going to text Seungmin and see where he's at but you can go inside, I'm going to stay here and get some more fresh air"

"Alright, I'll see you at the cafe"

You nod, seeing him walk away. Woah, you just let that masterpiece of a man go because you can't forget about a fucking unrequited love. You curse yourself, slapping your forehead.

After that, you text Seungmin telling where you are and asking where the hell he and Hannah went, sending the same message to her and waiting for their answer.

You sit on the grass, taking a deep breath. You feel a bit sick after seeing Jisung, you never thought you'd feel that way. Never in your worst nightmares did you think you would be afraid to talk to him, maybe you're scared of talking to him and feeling nothing, what if all of this was just in your head and you just needed some time apart to figure it out?

You hear steps close to you and pray it's not some horny couple trying to fuck near you, however, the moment you lay eyes on your best friend you actually wish it was a horny couple.

You get up in a jump, your stomach sinking and your head spinning. Why does it hurt so much suddenly? It feels like your chest is being torn apart and you can't do a thing to make it better.

Jisung looks worse up close, he has huge bags under his eyes and he's too pale.

You're worried about him, even though you can't have the luxury of that. Not when your insides are all messed up and you want to throw up. You walk past him without saying a word, you can't handle this right now, but he grabs your wrist holding you in place. You don't look at him, staring at the floor trying to get out of his grip.

"I miss you", he says and your heart drops to your stomach. Why is he doing this to you? It's not like being apart from your best friend is fun to you. "Can't you look at me?", he pleads but you can't find the courage to do that yet. "Please", but he sounds so desperate, you force yourself to do it.

You look at him, he's obviously drunk. Who the hell let him drink this much?

"What is it?", you sound more spiteful than you were planning and his eyes widen, releasing your arm from his grasp.

"Do you hate me now?", he asks and you sigh.

"Of course I don't hate you, you're my best friend", you say that but for some reason it doesn't feel right, it doesn't sound like the truth.

"Can't you come back home? I feel like shit everytime I wake up and you're not there"

"I told you I need time", you say, running your hands through your hair.

"Are you going to forget about me by fucking some random dude?", he asks and you glare at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand how that's any of your business"

"It is, because you told me you love me but you act like you never want to see my face again", he scoffs.

You feel mad, what's he trying to say? Should you keep hurting just because you love him?

"I can't sit around forever, waiting for you to look at me", you say and he steps closer to you.

"I'm looking at you right now, I- I'll be good to you, I'll like you back", the moment he finishes saying that, you can't control the tears running through your eyes.

Is that supposed to be good? He would be forced to date you so he could have you close to him?

"Why are you doing this to me?" You ask and he takes a step back startled with you tears, suddenly sobering up, "it's not easy for me to be away from you, you're my best friend, but I do have some bit of dignity left in me and I won't accept less than I deserve, even if that less is the man I love with me", you wipe your tears seeing him step closer, trying to reach your hand and you step away, "don't come close to me right now, I could never stay with you knowing you don't love me, you should know that"

You turn around trying to get away from him but stop on your tracks seeing Hannah, Seungmin, Chan and Changbin right there looking at you awkwardly. Of course, the humiliation is the cherry on the top. You pass through them feeling so embarrassed you want the earth to swallow you.

The ride home is awkward and silent. Hannah and Seungmin keep exchanging looks while you look out the window trying to figure how your life became this mess.

You really should have dated Jeongho when he asked you out in middle school, it was around that time that you realized you liked Han more than just a friend—when Haneul asked to be his date to the school festival and you wanted to punch her so hard. Maybe if you had dated that boy at that time you would have forgotten the feelings you had for your friend, maybe you would have brushed it off as some childhood crush, but no, you rejected Jeongho while Han went with Haneul to the school festival and you third wheeled the whole event earning nasty glances from her every time your best friend played two times the same game so he could win you a plush too.

Back then you still thought everything would be okay, if only you had him everything would be okay.

You start bawling without notice, crying so much you can't even breathe. Seungmin stops the car and Hannah gets to the back, hugging you and caressing your hair while whispering that everything will be fine and you really want to believe her.

You don't know how you got into Seungmin's apartment, you guess he carried you inside after dropping Hannah home but you're not sure. It's sunday so he's not up yet for you to ask and it doesn't actually matter, what matters is the absolutely pathetic scene you made at the party and in the car. You want to bury yourself into a hole and never come back, how the hell are you going to face your friends after they saw you being humiliated by Han like that?

You know he was drunk, of course he was. You know he didn't mean it, he was hurt and drunk and people act on feelings not reason when they are like that. But does he think you have no pride? Does he really think you would date him knowing he doesn't like you back?

It's different when you confessed to him, you knew he didn't like you that way. But if he told you that there was something there, that he was not going to promise you anything but someday he may like you back, that's all you needed to hear. However, that didn't happen. He told you with all the words that he doesn't like that way, that he doesn't feel the same way as you do, there was no room for interpretation, no room for what if's.

You get up, in need to distract yourself. This week is going to fly by, you have tutoring lessons using up all your free time so you just have to get through the day.

There are a lot of messages on your phone, you really don't want to read them because you know that other than Hannah's, it's awkward comforting words from your other friends.

Hannah: call me when you wake up

Hannah: let's go eat something delicious, what do you think? It's on me.

Hannah: are you still not up or are you ignoring me?

You: I just woke up, calm down girl

You: why would I ignore you though? I just have to brush my teeth and eat something then I'll call you.

Binnie: morning babes

Binnie: Hannie is such an asshole

Binnie: I'll date you if you want, you're hot it's a win win for me

You chuckle to Changbin texts, he's so sweet in the weirdest way.

You: I mean, you're hot too

You: I think we'd make an awesome couple

Chan: good morning, Y/N

Chan: we didn't hear anything last night, so please, don't be awkward or embarrassed around us.

You: good morning Channie, I know you heard

You: you should have matched your story with Changbin before texting me though

You: it's okay, alright? Of course I'll be embarrassed for the time being, but we're friends I won't be embarrassed forever.

You leave your phone on the couch and go to the bathroom. You look like shit, smeared makeup, hair disgusting and you're still wearing the same clothes. You turn on the hot water, taking your clothes off and entering the shower, the warmth embracing you as you feel more relaxed.

You put on something comfortable, it's Sunday, you're going to ask Hannah to come by and you're going to order takeout.

You call her number while eating because you know she's anxious.

"Hey babes, good morning", she picks up, cheerful as always.

"Good morning", you say, biting the toast you just made.

"So, what about going out and eating something really good?", she asks.

"Hm, I'm actually not in the mood to go out? Can't you come by, we order something and watch that movie you've been bugging me for the last month?"

"Yeah, sure. We can do that", she answers and you are happy she doesn't sound upset or disappointed. With all the shit you're pulling lately you're scared your friends are going to get tired of your bullshit and stop talking to you. You used to think no one wanted a friend that's always crying and whining, but they showed you that real friends help each other.

"So what time are you gonna come?"

"I will just take a shower and wait for the bus, so in maybe like an hour?", she guesses and you nod forgetting she can't see you.

"Okay, see you then"

You decide to clean the house while waiting, Seungmin is pretty organized and clean so there's nothing too difficult. You'll just wash the dishes and vacuum a little.

Hannah arrives later than she predicted, Seungmin is already up and cleaning his room. He scolded you because it's his day to do the dishes and you shouldn't have done it because it's not fair to you.

You think he's being extra nice to you because of what happened the night before and it's true, he was really scared when you cried in his car.

He has known you for almost five years and he never saw you cry like that, even on the night you came to his house after confessing to Han you didn't cry like that. This time was different, you had a soul crushing cry, he wanted to stop the car and go to the back to hug you the same as Hannah, but he knew you were already being comforted by the perfect person.

Han is his friend, he could never choose between you two. But he couldn't deny it, that was a dick move, how could he ever say that to someone that likes him? He basically told you that he could pretend to like you if you stayed with him.

And of course, Seungmin understands the fear of losing a friend, but doing what he did just increases the chances of you never wanting to see his face again.

You are seated on the couch, watching the movie Hannah is obsessed with at the moment. She already watched it five times alone and asks anyone she can find to watch it again with her, she even repeats some sentences together with the characters.

The pizza you ordered is almost gone, you didn't know you were so hungry until the smell hit your nose. Luckily or thanks to Seungmin and Heeseung, your hangover is not that bad and you want it to stay that way so you keep drinking lots of water.

You got through the day thanks to your friends, they kept you entertained the whole time so you wouldn't overthink or even think about Han.

You are doing that just now, looking at the ceiling in the dark room. You want it all to be a dream, maybe you would wake up tomorrow and still be in middle school, you'd take the opportunity and get over him at that time, that would have spared you of some big problems.

----------------

A/N: So, I don't know how many parts this fic will have. If you like what I write please reblog or let me know in the comments, feedback give me motivation to keep writing.

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 month ago

Text

With Her Die |23|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: A New Order

warning(s): psychological trauma, guilt and grief, religious/cult-like behavior, death, emotional manipulation, survivor's guilt, isolation and abandonment themes, ritualistic behavior, leadership power dynamics, interpersonal conflict, and mental health deterioration.

notes: happy gay month 'cause yk you gay n' stuff.

taglist:@morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots@mikuley@sleepyjackets@wnbawag

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Days blurred together in the aftermath of the fire, measured only by the constant feeding of the camp fire that had become your lifeline. The flames devoured everything you could find—broken furniture salvaged from the charred remains, branches torn from unwilling trees, scraps of fabric that no longer served any purpose. The fire breathed like a living thing, hungry and demanding, its warmth the only barrier between you and the wilderness that pressed closer now, more intimate in its threat.

You sat on a fallen log, watching Taissa and Van work to clear debris from what had once been the cabin's foundation. Their movements were mechanical, efficient, but you could see the exhaustion in the slope of their shoulders, the way they paused just a moment too long between tasks. Everyone was running on empty, had been since before the fire took even that meager shelter from you.

The assumption had settled over the group like ash—unspoken but pervasive. Coach Scott's convenient disappearance, the timing too perfect to be coincidence. You'd heard the whispers, seen the glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking. He'd burned it down, they said. Lost his mind with grief and guilt and set fire to everything.

You knew better. The weight of your last conversation with him sat heavy in your chest, a secret that grew heavier with each passing hour. But how could you tell them the truth? That you'd encouraged him to leave, that his departure was mercy rather than madness?

"You're doing it again," Shauna said, settling beside you on the log. Her presence was both comfort and complication, the way it always was now—this strange intimacy born of shared trauma and necessity.

"Doing what?" you asked, though you knew what she meant. The thousand-yard stare, the mental absence that had become your default state since Jackie's death.

"Disappearing," she said simply. "Even when you're right here."

You shrugged, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Everything felt fragile now, like speaking too loudly might shatter what little remained of your composure.

Shauna was quiet for a moment, studying your profile in the flickering firelight. "Do you really think he did it?" she asked finally.

The question hung between you, loaded with implications you weren't ready to explore. "Coach?" you said, stalling for time.

"He was the only one not accounted for when it started," Shauna continued, her voice carefully neutral. "And he's been... different. Since everything."

You felt the familiar surge of defensiveness rise in your throat, sharp and protective. "He wouldn't do that to us," you said, perhaps too quickly.

Shauna's eyebrows rose slightly. "Wouldn't he? We've all done things we wouldn't have done before. This place—"

"He's not like us," you interrupted, the words escaping before you could consider them. "He never... he didn't cross that line."

The unspoken truth settled between you—the meals Coach had refused, the humanity he'd maintained while the rest of you had descended into something primal and desperate. Shauna's face tightened, understanding and hurt warring in her expression.

"So what does that make us?" she asked, her voice quiet but edged with something dangerous. "Monsters?"

You turned to look at her fully, seeing the pain you'd inadvertently caused written across her features. This was the thing that lived between you now—the knowledge of what survival had cost, what it had made you both become.

"That's not what I meant," you said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away before you could make contact, the rejection sharp and immediate. "Isn't it?" she asked. "We're all contaminated now, is that it? All of us except precious Coach Scott, who was too good for us?"

The bitterness in her voice cut deep, because part of you recognized the truth in it. There was a cleanness to Coach's absence from the group's desperate measures, a moral purity that felt both admirable and somehow accusatory.

"Shauna—"

"No," she said, standing abruptly. "I get it. We're the ones with blood on our hands, literally and figuratively. We're the ones who—"

"Stop it," you said, your own voice rising now. "You think I don't know what we've done? You think I don't carry it every single day?"

Shauna's expression softened slightly, but the hurt remained. "Then why defend him? Why make excuses for someone who abandoned us when things got hard?"

Because I told him to leave, you wanted to say. Because I couldn't bear to watch this place destroy the last good thing from our old life. But the words stayed locked in your throat, too complicated to explain, too dangerous to reveal.

"I just don't think he'd burn down our shelter," you said instead, the partial truth feeling like a betrayal of them both.

Before Shauna could respond, Lottie's voice cut through the night air, clear and carrying despite its softness. "Come," she called, though she wasn't looking at anyone in particular. "It's time."

You and Shauna exchanged glances, your argument temporarily set aside in the face of this new development. Around the clearing, others were already moving toward where Lottie stood near the fire, her figure backlit by flames that seemed to dance in response to her presence.

The group gathered in a loose circle, the formation feeling both natural and ritualistic. Lottie stood at the center, her eyes reflecting the firelight with an intensity that made you want to look away. Since Jackie's death, since the winter had taken its toll on all of you, she'd become something else—oracle, prophet, conduit for whatever force moved through this wilderness.

"The fire was a message," she said, her voice carrying easily through the night air. "A cleansing. The old structure burned away so something new could be born."

Taissa shifted uncomfortably, her skepticism still intact despite everything. "Lottie, we need practical solutions, not—"

"The wilderness rejected her," Lottie continued as if Taissa hadn't spoken, her gaze finding Nat across the circle. "We offered her up, and she was refused. Do you know what that means?"

Nat looked like she wanted to disappear, her shoulders hunched as attention focused on her. "That I'm lucky?" she said, but there was no humor in it.

"It means you're chosen," Lottie said simply. "The wilderness doesn't accept sacrifice from its own children. You belong to it, and it to you."

A strange silence settled over the group, heavy with implication. You could see the others processing Lottie's words, weighing them against their own desperate need for meaning, for structure in the chaos that had become your existence.

"Lead us," Lottie continued, her voice gaining strength. "Not because we choose you, but because the wilderness already has."

Nat's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Lead you where? We're all just trying to make it another day."

"Exactly," Lottie said, and something in her tone made the word sound like prophecy. "Survival requires leadership. Direction. Purpose."

You watched Nat's face, saw the war between resistance and recognition playing out in her expression. She'd never asked for leadership, had always been more comfortable on the periphery. But there was something in her that understood necessity, that had always been willing to do what others couldn't or wouldn't.

Travis spoke up from across the circle, his voice hoarse from days of grief. "She tried to save him," he said simply. "When the rest of.. when we lost ourselves, she still tried to save him."

The words hit you like a physical blow, guilt crashing over you in waves. You'd been avoiding Travis since that day on the ice, unable to look at him without seeing Javi's face disappearing beneath the surface. The knowledge that you'd failed to protect his brother sat like a stone in your chest, growing heavier with each breath.

One by one, the others began to move toward Nat. Van approached first, offering a simple handshake that Nat accepted with visible reluctance. Taissa followed, her acknowledgment more formal, like a diplomat recognizing a new government.

Mari bowed her head slightly as she approached, a gesture that seemed to surprise even her. Akilah did the same, though her movement was more uncertain, seeking approval for her instincts.

When Misty approached, she dropped to her knees without hesitation, taking Nat's hand and pressing it to her lips in a gesture so theatrical it might have been funny under other circumstances. Nat's startled laugh broke some of the tension, a sound more genuine than any you'd heard from her in weeks.

"Jesus, Misty," Nat said, but she didn't pull her hand away immediately. "Get up."

As the others continued their acknowledgments, you remained at the edge of the circle, paralyzed by your own guilt. How could you pledge loyalty to someone whose leadership was built on the foundation of your failure? How could you look Nat in the eye knowing that Javi might still be alive if you'd been faster, stronger, better?

Shauna approached Nat with quiet dignity, her acknowledgment simple and heartfelt. When she returned to the circle, her eyes found yours across the firelight, a question in her gaze that you couldn't bring yourself to answer.

Finally, only you remained. The weight of everyone's attention pressed down on you, expectant and patient. Nat's eyes met yours across the distance, and something passed between you—understanding, perhaps, or recognition of shared loss.

You took a step forward, then another, your feet carrying you toward her despite your reluctance. When you reached her, Nat extended her hand, and you took it automatically. Her skin was warm, roughened by weeks of survival, but steady in a way that reminded you why the wilderness might have chosen her.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the words meant for Javi, for Travis, for all the ways you'd failed when it mattered most.

Nat's grip tightened around your hand, her thumb brushing across your knuckles in a gesture so gentle it nearly broke you. "We all are," she said quietly, her voice meant only for you.

You lingered a moment longer than necessary, drawing strength from the contact, from the absolution she offered even if you couldn't accept it. When you finally released her hand and stepped back, something had shifted in the group dynamic—subtle but significant.

As the ceremony concluded and people began to disperse, you found yourself drawn to the edges of the firelight, seeking shadows where you could process what had just occurred. The weight of leadership now rested on Nat's shoulders, and with it the responsibility for decisions that might mean the difference between life and death for all of you.

Shauna approached you as you stood apart from the others, her earlier anger replaced by concern. "Hey," she said softly.

You nodded but didn't turn toward her, afraid that meeting her eyes would shatter what little composure you'd managed to maintain.

"Talk to me," she said, stepping closer. "Please."

But how could you explain the guilt that ate at you from the inside? How could you articulate the way Javi's death had changed everything, made every breath feel like theft, every moment of warmth or comfort feel undeserved?

"I can't," you said finally, the words barely audible above the crackling of the fire.

Shauna's hand touched your shoulder, a tentative offer of comfort that you wanted desperately to accept. Instead, you stepped away, putting distance between yourself and the kindness you didn't deserve.

"I just need some time," you said, hating how the words sounded, how they pushed away the one person who'd tried to anchor you through the worst of it.

You saw the hurt flash across Shauna's face before she could hide it, saw how your rejection landed like a blow. But she nodded, stepping back to give you the space you'd asked for, even if it wasn't what either of you needed.

As you walked away from the fire, from the group, from the comfort that felt like betrayal, you carried the weight of too many secrets, too much guilt. Behind you, the fire continued to burn, hungry and patient, consuming everything you fed it while giving back only warmth and light—a mercy you weren't sure you deserved but couldn't bring yourself to refuse.

The wilderness pressed close around you, dark and knowing, holding space for your grief while offering no easy answers. In its depths, you thought you heard the echo of Javi's laughter, the memory of innocence lost, the sound of ice cracking under the weight of choices that couldn't be undone.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new tests of survival and sanity. Tonight, there was only the fire, the darkness, and the terrible knowledge that some forms of hunger could never be satisfied, no matter how much you fed the flames.

#shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman #shauna yellowjackets #jackie taylor x you #jackie taylor x y/n #jackie taylor x reader #jackie yellowjackets #jackie taylor #yellowjackets x reader #yellow jackets #yellowjacket

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bread-crum206 · 6 months ago

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A Game of Hearts

Chapter twenty-three: Beneath the Mask

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

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Series Masterlist

The evening was heavy with silence, the kind that fills a room like a storm waiting to break. You sat across from In-ho, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your glass, watching him as he worked through papers at his desk. There was a subtle tension in the air, one that neither of you had addressed but both could feel. It wasn’t the same distance as before—no, this time it was more like an unspoken wall between you. You could feel his eyes on you, every now and then, like he was trying to decipher something about you.

But even as he remained immersed in his work, there was an unsettling vulnerability to him, an unspoken weight hanging over his usually stoic expression. You knew he was lost in his thoughts. There were still cracks in his armor, though he tried so hard to keep them hidden. You couldn’t help but feel the urge to bridge the gap between you—to understand what he wasn’t saying, what he was keeping from you.

The hours had drifted by, the soft hum of the quiet night only broken by the sound of his pen tapping against paper. But you couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach any longer. The connection between you, however fragile, needed to be addressed. You had no idea what this was—this pull you felt towards him, this subtle but undeniable thread of something more. But one thing was clear: you couldn’t keep pretending that things were fine when the tension between you both only deepened.

“In-ho,” you said, your voice breaking the stillness. It felt strange saying his name, but it also felt like the first step toward something more. You didn’t wait for him to acknowledge you before continuing. “I need to ask you something.”

His pen paused mid-tap, and he finally looked up, his gaze flicking to yours with a cool indifference, but there was a softness there now—something hidden beneath the hard mask. He didn’t speak, just gave you a subtle nod, waiting for you to continue.

“You’ve been pulling away,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t understand why.” Your voice wavered, but you couldn’t stop yourself now. “What’s going on, In-ho? I feel like there’s more to you than what you’re letting on. You’re holding something back. And I… I need to know why.”

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning cold again, as though your question had triggered something within him. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes now fixed on some distant point beyond you. The silence stretched between you both, thick and suffocating. You felt exposed in a way, unsure if you had crossed a line you weren’t meant to cross.

“You don’t want to know,” he finally said, his voice low, his tone flat. “Trust me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a chill running through you as the walls around him seemed to rise higher. But you weren’t going to back down. Not this time.

“I think I do want to know,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “I’m not asking to pry, but if we’re going to keep pretending like nothing is going on, then I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. I can feel it, In-ho. The distance between us.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—a flash of pain, fleeting but unmistakable. It was enough to make your heart race, even as he closed himself off again.

“Let it go,” he said, his voice sharp now, a command. “You’re better off not knowing. I told you before… this isn’t the life for you. The sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be for you.”

But something inside you pushed back against that notion. You weren’t ready to let him shut you out—not when you could feel the depth of his emotions beneath that cold, calculated exterior. He was trying to protect you, but it wasn’t just that. You knew it. He was afraid. Afraid of losing someone else. Afraid of loving again.

“I’m not afraid of the truth, In-ho,” you said softly, standing up from your seat, closing the distance between you. Your gaze locked with his, and this time, you didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to protect me from it. I want to understand, even if it scares me.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. His eyes searched your face as though trying to gauge whether you meant it, whether you were truly prepared for whatever he was about to say.

For a long moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the weight of his past pressing down on both of you. Then, In-ho stood up slowly, his movements careful, like a man preparing to reveal something dangerous.

“You think you want to know,” he began, his voice quieter now, as though he was telling himself more than you. “But the truth is… I lost everything once. My wife, my unborn child. I thought I had a future. A life. And then it was all ripped away in the span of a few months.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it, turning his back to you, walking toward the window. “It broke me. And now… now I don’t know how to love anyone anymore. Not like that. Not after everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the confession more vulnerable than you ever expected to hear from him. The realization that In-ho, the frontman, the powerful man who seemed to control everything, had been shattered by a loss so profound made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You wanted to reach out to him, but something told you he wasn’t ready to be held.

He shook his head, the darkness of the night outside reflected in the coldness of his eyes. “It’s not your problem,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness. “I can’t let anyone in again. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not part of this world. And I can’t—”

“You’re wrong,” you interrupted him softly, your voice trembling but determined. “I’m already here. I’m already a part of it. And I’m not leaving, In-ho. Not because of this.”

For a second, you thought he might say something more, but instead, he exhaled sharply and turned away from you, his jaw clenched tight.

“You should go,” he said, his voice thick with finality. “I have things to handle tonight.”

You didn’t say anything else. You simply nodded, heart heavy, as you turned to leave. But as you reached the door, you glanced back at him. There was something different in the way he stood—something that hadn’t been there before.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” you said quietly, then walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind you.

In-ho didn’t follow. He didn’t say anything more. But you knew, deep down, that something had shifted. Whether it was a step forward or a step back, you weren’t sure. But you could feel it—the quiet promise that things between you had just begun to unravel, for better or worse.

———————

Chapter twenty-three!! Wooow let’s goo! More progress?? As always lemme know what you think! Thank you! :)

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#in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x y/n #squid games x reader #x reader #arranged marriage #frontman x reader #marriage au #the front man #squid game x reader

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madamechrissy · 8 months ago

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Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- oral sex (fem recieving), pussy slapping, rough sex, dirty talk.

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ this chap- 7k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right? That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU

Chapter 14 ♡ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ♡ Playlist

Chapter 15- Final

Five years later

“Papa, Papa! I have a… um… ahjectin!” Comes your four year old daughter Noriko’s cute little voice, as you and Satoru are working at the office. Satoru comes to kneel in front of her, looking at her very seriously, she’s got on a little lawyer jacket that had been tailor made, white hair just like her dad.

“An objection! To me!?” Satoru demands, a hand on his chest, mouth open in a gasp, you watch with a grin, as your two year old daughter Faye sits on your lap, doodling all over a bunch of papers. She looks more like you, but she has Satoru’s swirling blue eyes all day.

“Ajectin! I get to stay up past eight with Aunt Maki, I will give you pwetty picture if I can!” Satoru looks at you now, those glittering blue eyes so full of mirth, and you suppress your own giggle behind your hand.

“A pretty picture, hmm you offer an interesting compromise. I don’t know, we have to ask Mama though.” Your daughter, Noriko smiles. Living up to her name at a young little age, she was as feisty as can be. You giggle again, earning her cute little glare.

“Sorry baby, okay, it better be a beautiful picture, I’ll tell Maki you can stay up an extra hour, but you better be good for her!”

“I will mama!”

“Then it’s a deal, little lawyer.” You say to her, she giggles and runs to you now, her little arms out, you pull her on your other leg with her sister Faye.

“I’ll make it so pretty Mama!” She smacks a little kiss on your cheek, and your heart is just so full it feels like it will burst, every little moment with your family is so beautiful.

“I’ll let you two draw then, I’ve gotta finish some work with dad, okay?” They nod and you scooch their seats up as high as they go, planting kisses on each of their cheeks, walking over to where Gojo is sitting on his desk, watching you all.

“You would have been such a shit defense attorney, glad you stuck with prosecution. You can’t even handle little Noriko?” He teases, you stick out your tongue, shoving at him playfully.

“She’s a beast, Toru, you know this.” He pulls you against him in a hug, arms around your waist, planting a little kiss on your forehead, making you sigh.

“I can’t wait for our date tonight.” He whispers in your ear, making you flush furiously now, you peek back and they’re still happily drawing, as you look back up at Gojo, seeing the lidded gaze he has.

Your hands clutch the lapels of his jacket as your shift, he would comment on it but he can’t around the girls, but his damn face speaks for himself, as you tiptoe and kiss his chin. “Hush!”

“Didn’t say anything.” He smirks, and you roll your eyes at him. “You can’t wait either, huh?”

“Can��t wait.” You whisper back, stealing a little kiss on those lips that always drive you to distraction, before you both get back to finishing up work for the day.

You both opened Gojo Family Law Firm two years ago, and it’s been insanely profitable. Maki and Yuta work for an elite law firm together, and Nanami and Suguru actually recently opened their own firm together with their good friend, Hiruguma. All of you are incredibly close, and tonight Maki is going to watch your girls, so you and Satoru can have a night out.

You are insanely excited, as you look over at your gorgeous husband, wearing that black pinstripe suit and leaned over his desk, the side profile of his face just absolutely perfect. You never, ever get tired of drinking in how beautiful he is, nor does he ever get tired of telling you how beautiful you are.

“Need a picture, Miss Brat?” He teases.

“Miss Brat my ass! I’m long past that.” You nudge him with your shoulder as you pour over paperwork, and then feel his eyes on you, one of his hands coming to sit on your lower back, leaning close.

“You’re always Miss Brat to me.” You shake your head and roll your eyes, kissing his cheek, looking back at your girls now.

“I feel like six years have flown by.”

“I know, time does go fast, as busy as we all are.”

“They’re getting so big already.” You feel choked up, and Satoru now leans to whisper in your ear.

“Want another one in you?” Your heart falters, you gasp and see his snowy lashes are lowered, his husky whisper making your pulse race.

“Satoru!”

“What? One more wouldn’t hurt.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“I think two is fine, I’m just getting my body back!”

“I love your body, always.” You eye his lips now, before you both clear your throats, scooching away as the kids have climbed out of their seats, pointing at you both and giggling.

“Mommy and Daddy smooch.” Noriko says, and Satoru grins now.

“No smooch!” Faye says.

“Smooch!” Satoru says, and you laugh at them, getting a little ‘mwah’ from him now.

“Yay!”

“Yuck!”

“Oh gosh let’s finish up for the day, so we can see Aunt Maki!” You say, and they are bouncing up and down, running around your big joint office now. You sigh, shaking your head. “I have three kids already.”

“I heard that, Missy!” Satoru says with a mock scowl, crossing his arms, but you just smirk right back at him.

“Let me look at that case.” You say softly, peering over now, Satoru had just grown more and more successful, the only case he ever did lose was Naoya on purpose, years ago, thankfully he has been in prison and isn’t leaving. Satoru also was able to exonerate the person he’d falsely put away.

This case he was on now was a very high profile murder case, a star athlete accused of murdering his wife, you and Satoru both have a nagging bad feeling about it, of course you don’t speak in front of the girls about it unless in murmurs. You jot down notes and point to them, he nods, his big hand on your waist as he leans forward, jotting his own down.

“Genius little brat.” He says against your ear.

“I learned from the best.” You say softly, smiling up at him.

“Mama, Papa, look! Ovewuled!” Noriko shouts, waving her cute little arms around and pointing to her sister.

“Overruled!? Why is she overruled?” Satoru demands, crossing his arms and looking so serious as he leans back in his big office chair.

“Because, Papa, she copied my drawing! In-ab-mis…”

“Inadmissible?” You finish, earning her nod, and then her little sister stomps her cute little foot, crossing her arms.

“Nuh- uh. Pwetty picture for Mama!” She says, holding it up now, you laugh softly, standing and bending low to take it.

“Is this Papa?” You ask, and she nods, grinning with her cute little teeth.

“Papa, Papa!” Faye shouts.

“It’s your favorite thing, Mama!” Noriko says.

You choke up then, gulping down emotions but failing, tears forming in your eyes as Satoru bends down, looking at the sketch of him, smiling so big. “This is such a good picture, baby! Why is it overruled, Noriko?” You ask.

“Because mine is better!”

“She gets the competitive streak from you.” You whisper, Satoru smirks now, holding the other picture out and grinning so big.

You have the three people you love most in the world right here with you, your two baby girls and your Toru, you’re not sure if anything could get better. You’re so full of love, especially as you watch the girls hugging each of Satoru’s legs, and he's walking them around as they cling to him, laughing. You put your hand on your chest for a moment, smiling at them.

“Papa, are you excited! Date with Mama!” Noriko says.

“Date Mama!” Faye says, and they point at you.

Satoru grins at you. “I’m very excited for a date with Mama.”

You really can’t wait for tonight.

You’re carrying Faye in one of your arms now, propped up on your hip, as Satoru is carrying in Noriko as you all walk into Maki and Yuta’s place. The girls get ridiculously excited, and Maki bends down holding her arms out, as they wiggle out of both of your hold, leaving you and Satoru laughing as you let them down. They run to her and jump in her arms.

“Maki, Maki!” They exclaim excitedly, Yuta comes out now and they run to him and hug his legs, he smiles and pats their heads affectionately.

“Hey girlies!” He says.

“Uta, Uta!”

“They like you better than us.” You say, pouting, and Maki wiggles her brows and grins deviously.

“I give them anything they want. Come here, I missed you.” Maki hugs you now, then Satoru, who pats her head affectionately, earning her glare.

“Did you miss me too!?” He asks.

“The tiniest bit.” She sticks her tongue out now, and the girls are bouncing around as you hand Maki their toys, tablets, everything basically. So many things Maki shoves them on the couch and shakes her head, taking in your outfit now. “You look so hot, whoo.”

“Thank you Maki.” You say with a blush, you’re dressed up in a slinky little black dress and heels, a pretty diamond necklace and bracelet Satoru bought you decorating your neck and wrists.

“You look so pretty.” Yuta agrees, hugging you then.

“Thank you! Ugh you two are the best for this, really.”

“We don’t mind at all. They’re our nieces you know.” Yuta turns to the girls then, bending down. “What movies are we watching?”

They start shouting then arguing, suddenly it’s like two baby lawyers, Maki snorts and shakes her head. “They’re just like both of you. Little monsters.”

“They’re angels.” Satoru says, as they continue arguing in lawyer form.

“Sure they are. You two, get out, go have fun.” Maki practically shoves you both out the door now, you stop.

“Let me say bye! Gimme kisses babies.” They come running up and you peck kisses all over their cheeks, until Satoru drags you away and Maki shoves you again.

“I said go on! We’re good.” She waves and shuts the door, leaving just you and Satoru, who looks your body up and down hungrily before picking you up, hauling you over his shoulder.

“Toru! Too high!”

“You look so good, I can’t have you getting snatched up.” He smacks your ass now, earning a squeak, before setting you down and sliding into the car, pulling you in with him as Ijichi revs up the engine.

“A date.” You whisper.

“A date. If we make it.” Satoru’s pressing you down, back against the leather seats, you gasp at it, hips shifting, thighs spread around his narrow hips. His hands come to rest on your hips, a little wider than they used to be, but Satoru couldn’t care less, in fact he loves your body more after babies. “This body…”

“Your body.” You whisper back, kissing him over and over, not the sweet kisses you normally share, this is desperate and hungry, this is the first date you’ve had in months since you all have been so busy. You’re both dying for each other, your gasp is loud when his cock brushes you under his slacks, pressing between your thighs. “Ngh…”

“Those moans, I wanna hear them so fucking loud tonight.” He whispers, you giggle then, hips arching up for more, watching his pretty blue eyes dilate, tasting his sweet breath against your lips as your hands slide up his strong chest under his suit jacket, over that crisp white dress shirt.

“I wanna be loud so bad.” Your words undo him, he’s already pressing harder, earning your little whimper, as his lips find purchase against the base of your throat and he’s sucking there. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly, feeling every tension as his hands glide down your thighs.

“Acting like some prim, proper soccer mom when you’re slutty.” He murmurs against your ear, only making you wetter.

“Slutty hmm? That’s you. Soccer dad.”

“Me!? You. Brat.” You giggle, before gasping, and he’s grinding more and more, your slinky dress up your hips as he’s grabbing one of your breasts in his hand now, squishing it over the silky fabric.

“Mnh…” You can’t think of a proper word, Satoru Gojo’s hands, lips and body collide with yours, you’ve never been able to get enough of him, and you never will get enough.

“Can’t wait.” He says then, and you laugh, breathy, pausing him.

“Satoru I’ll be dripping cum all night on the date!”

“Keep it in then.” He says.

“Gravity, Toru.” You retort. He rolls his eyes.

“Hmph, brat.” You’re both laughing now, he’s easing up just a bit, sighing as he looks down at you so lovingly, caressing your cheek with the backs of his fingers so delicately.

“So beautiful.” Satoru murmurs, looking at your pretty face, you light up as he says so, biting your lip and flushing, lashes lowering over your glittering eyes. And god you’re so beautiful, he will never stop saying it, because you should know.

“Thank you, I feel beautiful tonight.” You say, and he scoffs.

“Every night. Beautiful brat.” You’re wriggling under him, soft body so small under his long, lanky one, your soft breasts rising and falling, nipples perked up right against your thin dress.

“I won’t be able to wait if you keep looking at me like that.” You trail your fingers down his jaw now, studying him intensely, your breaths mingling in the car. God Satrou can’t wait to hear you scream his name.

You all still had plenty of sex, but it was different now as parents, it was sneaking in the laundry room and him fucking you over the dryer real quick and fast, a hand clamped to your mouth. It was quiet nights in the bedroom, sometimes interrupted by little knocks on your door when one of the girls had a bad dream, only to be shoved apart by two little girls.

You’d both end up on opposite sides of the bed, laughing and looking at each other, holding hands over them between you and falling asleep.

Satoru would have it no other way though, he loves his daughters so much, and he loves you so much, especially how amazing you are as a mother. He’s so proud of who you’ve become and who you are, a loving wife, an amazing mom, and a badass little attorney. You also still look just as good in those little pencil skirts as you always did, bossing him around.

“What is it, Toru? So quiet.” You say now, shaking him out of his thoughts. Satoru leans down lower, lips hovering over yours.

“Thinking how proud I am of you.”

“Satoru…” You’re blinking tears now, he laughs softly as one escapes your eye, dripping down to your temple.

“Crybaby.”

“Hush. That means a lot to me, thank you. I am proud of you.” His heart falters, at your words, at your touch, at your eyes reflecting all the love and desire he has for you.

“Of course you are, I’m the best.” He winks and earns your laugh, before slamming his lips down back on yours. “I love you, wife.”

“I love you, husband.” You kiss and kiss and kiss until the car stops, and Satoru sits you up, fixing your hair thoughtfully, as you adjust his tie and collar. “We’re still like two teenagers.”

“I know, you’re almost thirty.”

“You are in your thirties!”

“I’m a Zaddy you know.”

“Oh Jesus.” You smack your head and burst into laughter at him, as Ijichi comes to open your door now.

“Don’t laugh, you’ll be screaming it later.”

“I’m so sorry Ijichi.” You say then, putting a hand on his shoulder, he sighs, shaking his head.

“I get paid enough to ignore most of this.” Ijichi kisses your hand then, and ignores Satoru, earning his glare.

“I don’t get such sweet things!”

“You don’t pay me enough to kiss your hand Mr. Gojo.” Ijichi leaves then, and Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes.

“He likes you better.” He says with a pout, you’re laughing softly, Satoru drags you in the building then, until you all are seated at a beautiful rooftop restaurant next to each other.

The lights are glimmering from the rooftop, lit up city lights decorating the distance along with a million glittering stars. Satoru’s hand is on your thigh as he leans close, forking a bite of yummy cake into your mouth after dinner, you’ve not laughed so much in a while, the both of you genuinely enjoying every moment. Now his hand on your thigh has you…

“You’re wet this easy, huh?” Satoru teases in your ear, you gasp, smacking on his hand now, glaring.

“What!?”

“Mmm, the heat emanating says you are.” He leans back to look at you, while the waitresses are bringing you both more drinks.

“You’re such a conceited, arrogant ass.”

He glares back now. “And you’re a slutty little brat.”

“Am I now?” Your hand finds him under the tablecloth, making him jerk, and you grin. “Taste of your medicine. Hmm, you’re hard already?”

“I’m gonna fuck this attitude out of you all night.” He says now, tilting your chin up, all while the waiters are pouring your wine, not hearing your whispers against the wind thankfully. “You think I will take it easy?”

“I hope you don’t.” You’re blushing as he’s grinning down at you, hand on your thigh pressing firmer, sliding up just so.

“Just wait till we get home, you know we have all night.”

“I know, fuck. I’ll check on them?” You take your phone and text Maki, Satoru pouts. “What!”

“Pay attention to me brat.”

“I am, I just… okay Maki said they’re fine and to just get laid.” You say with a huff, then you both laugh, sipping on your wine now.

“I’ve always loved your friends. Fuck how’d I get so lucky to have you?” He’s cupping your face so carefully, you feel emotions catch in your throat.

“I’m the lucky one, Satoru Gojo.” You brush his hair back gently. “Best father in the damn world, best husband. Best lawyer, best friend, best teacher. You’re everything, you know that?”

“Brat, don’t make me cry.” His lip trembles just so, and your foreheads rest together for a moment. “You’re the best mother, best wife, best everything.”

“You think so, Toru?”

“I know so. You make me so proud every day.” You both choke up then, in your own little world as waiters walk by, as people laugh and eat, but it’s just the two of you, with your love overwhelming your hearts in every way.

“I need you.” You say softly, then Satoru’s raising his hand.

“Check please.”

“Need these clothes off, now.” You whisper as you both stumble into your home soon after, yanking on his tie, unbuttoning his dress shirt with shaky hands, Satoru is turning you then, unzipping your dress.

“Beautiful fucking body.” He says softly, as the dress falls to a silky pool down your ankles.

You feel so beautiful with him.

You feel everything with him, every damn day.

It’s always like the day you met, that eagerness, the need, it never dims does it? Satoru always has you like this, a fucking mess as he’s stripping you completely, turning you to him and holding your face with his huge hands, kissing you deeply over and over. You melt against him, he’s picking you up, thighs wrapped around his narrow hips, as he carries you to the bed you share.

He’s laying you down on it, now just in his boxers, leaving you to study every muscle and line on his perfect body, but he’s soon spreading your thighs, kissing down your breasts, filling you with such intense need you can’t think. He’s sucking your nipples, you’re grinding your hips, pulling him in, gasping at the pleasure you feel while he’s slipping lower and lower.

“Love you, love you.” You whisper, he moans, kissing your tummy gently.

“I love you, fuck I love you. Every bit.” He’s kissing lower and lower now, you’re able to be as loud as you want, and fuck you are loud, head falling back, the dim lights of the room fading to darkness when his breath is on your cunt.

“T-Toru!” Your voice is hoarse as you’re screaming out, Satoru’s latching on to your swollen little clit now, sucking it in his mouth and humming as he watches you under those long white lashes. You’re gushing all over his pretty face, unable to even breathe, the pleasure is so - “So good fuck!”

“Mmm.” Is all you get in response, Satoru’s humming once more until your orgasm hits ridiculous, pussy clenching around nothing, covering his face in your slick as he takes a breath finally.

Your hands entangle in his silky hair, thighs shaking on either side of his head, he presses his fingers into the plush of one, as the other uses two fingers to sink into your little hole. You moan out at how good the stretch is, his tongue slipping up your slit to start drinking up every bit of arousal you have. He’s pumping his fingers up and down, right on that spot, making you damn near delirious.

“S’yummy.” He says, before starting to focus on licking your clit, while using his fingers, so much stimulation you almost wanna pull his head off, but you simultaneously want to drag his mouth closer. Your hands just clutch in his hair instead, as he’s pushing you into another orgasm, you feel everything tensing, about to explode.

“Toru!” You whine out, feeling his damn smirk against your pussy lips as he flicks one more time.

“You love it, don’t you miss brat?” He whispers, and your breath catches in your throat because you’re not sure if you can even speak, his fingers curling up in your soppy entrance. “You love when I eat your slutty pussy out, hmm?” He asks, voice dark and smug, and oh fuck it’s so hot, especially being called that.

You all never talked that way much any more, especially as parents, and the word fucking thrills you. You can’t help the whine that leaves you, nor the wetness that’s dripping down his fingers, loud in the room, you hear it. He’s grinning up at you, those white sharp fucking teeth glinting. Self satisfied, arrogant little shit, that you love more than anything, wrecking your mind.

“I love it, Satoru, I love it so much, it’s too much, I can’t, oh my god, it’s too much, I’m gonna - “ You’re cut off by another orgasm, your body writhing as he takes his mouth away to watch your pussy pulse and spasm hungrily. He’s grinning wider, his fingers still moving as your insides clench around them.

“But I’m not done yet, baby girl, you can take more, can’t you?” He says, and then he’s back at it, tongue flat against your clit, moving in a way that feels so fucking good, in tantalizing circles, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, your walls tightening around his digits. “Can you take three in you, baby?”

“Three…” You haven’t in ages, Satoru has been so easy with you lately, always knowing if he fucked you too good you’d scream out loud. You gasp when he’s shoved another long finger in your pussy, hoarse cry escaping your lips, head slamming back against the pillow. “Mnh!”

“So pretty stretching out f’me, you’re such a good girl.” You’re sobbing damn near as he continues, relentless on devouring your cunt, now kissing your tummy, the little stretch marks from the kids, spreading his hands across the expanse of your waist. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“Fuck! Satoru, fuck me, please.” You beg now, you’re so full, so fucking full of his hand, craving his cock as he’s pressing it into the matress, pre cum leaking against his boxers, he’s throbbing just devouring you, his pretty wife.

You look down, watching as he licks you, eyes glazed with lust, and your heart stutters at how pretty he is between your thighs, even as your addled mind is sending you off the deep end.

“Pretty.” You whisper, his brilliant blue eyes glinting, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, he leans up, sliding his third finger out now, working you with two.

“Pretty?” He teases, his chin glistening with your arousal, you swipe at it gently, brushing a thumb over his pouty lip.

“You’re pretty.”

“You’re pretty. Especially this pussy, fuck.” Satoru’s buried his face back against you, pussy drunk on your taste, your smell, your everything.

“Fuck me! Please, no more… dick.”

He’s laughing against you, breaths making you jump, his fingers spreading the puffy lips of your sex wide so he can admire how pretty you are there. “Not yet, I’m having fun down here, drinking up my wife.”

Fuck even after years, being called his wife just does something.

“Want your cock so bad please, please.” You’re giving him those eyes, the ones he always melts for, but he’s having too much fun clearly, now pressing your thighs up high, smushing them against your body, tongue sliding inside your velvety walls now, long and curling up just so, making you spasm, literally twitching as you cry out. “Please!”

“Taste so fucking good.” Satoru smacks your pussy now, making you jolt, eyes rolling back in your head at how good it feels, the sting of his hit. He laughs now, spitting on your already stupidly wet pussy, watching it drip down and groaning. “So fuckin wet, aren’t you?”

“For you.” You whisper, he shuts his eyes in pleasure at those words, you’re trying to yank him up, but he’s just fucking you with his fingers again, scissoring them in and our of your now sloppy cunt, you’re wriggling every which way, it’s too much, all too much.

“Cum again Miss Brat.”

Miss Brat.

Fuck remember years and years ago, you both could not even be together, it was a mess, but you couldn’t stay away, either of you. Your Professor Dickhead is just that, a fiend between your thighs, enjoying every bit of you falling apart, long tongue flicking so fast on your clit it’s ridiculous. Your breasts are heaving, he grips one with his free hand, tweaking a nipple, edging you further.

“I’m gonna cum again, I’m gonna cum again - “ The words are barely out of your mouth when your orgasm crashes into you, your back arching off the bed, your hands pulling on his hair until you think you might rip it out. He’s not letting up, not even a little, and you feel like you’re going to pass out from pleasure.

As you start to come down, Satoru’s movements finally slow, his eyes never leaving yours, and he pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean. “You taste so good, like heaven, baby.” He says, voice low and sweet, making you feel like you melt, you’re half dazed as he crawls up your body, kissing up your stomach, your chest, until his face is hovering above yours.

You cup his face gently, tears of overstimulation falling down your cheeks. “I need you inside me, please.”

“Yeah baby, do you? So bad you’re crying?” He teases, you just reach down, shoving his boxers over his firm ass, gripping it and arching up, rubbing your slick cunt on his cock, making him gasp.

“Off, all the way off.” You demand with a glare, and he’s eagerly complying, laying back on top of you, cock springing and smacking against your thigh. You eagerly grip it in your soft hand, stroking him up and down, watching his eyes roll back before he kisses you.

You taste yourself on his lips, his tongue dripping with saliva as it slides into your mouth, yours swirls with his, your hands slipping up and down his cock now, feeling it hot and twitching under your touch. You’re touching the tip, leaking so much precum, pulling back to slide it against your tongue, earning his feral growl, his brows low over his eyes now.

“Fuck you know what you’re doing to me. Brat.” He huffs, and you giggle, until he’s shoved his cock all the way inside your tight entrance, you’re screaming out at how good it feels, as he moans, eyes rolling back in his skull. “Oh my god so fuckin tight. How!? Brat and your evil tight pussy.”

You’d laugh but he’s fucking into you insane now, thrusting so deep, shoving your thighs up into a mating press, tip abusing your poor cervix. You’re shattering under him. His gorgeous face blurring in and out of your vision as your gaze swims, Satoru’s nose brushes yours as he studies you so intensely, hands shoving your thighs even further, even wider.

You struggle to take all of him, especially this deep, it’s been so long since he’s fucked you like this, like he’s lost his goddamn mind, making you a mess under him as his hips roll, grinding just so. You have a network of goosebumps everywhere he touches, everywhere his fingers brush, everywhere his lips press. Your cheek, your throat, your face.

Then he’s leaning back, kissing your ankle, your calf, fucking into you slower, but so hard the bed is creaking with every movement, the headboard smacking the wall with the force. He’s moaning, nipping your leg with his teeth when he’s slinging it over his shoulder, hands pinning you to the bed.

“L-love… your… cock, fuck.” You manage, he smirks, rolling his hips again, raising a brow.

“You do love it, don’t you? So slutty. You always wanted your Professor so bad inside you?” You’re gasping now, growing embarrassingly wet, and he notices, chuckling and leaning down, stretching you further.

“Never…. Used… a yardstick… fuck…” You’re laughing until he pulls out now. “No, back in!”

“Turn around, I think you need a lesson.” Satoru bends you over, your ass is in the air, he’s pressing your head into the mattress, lining his cock back up with your slick entrance now.

“Please, teach me. Ah!” Satoru’s shoved back in your cunt now, slamming hard, his pelvis smacking your ass, making it jiggle with each thrust as he smacks your ass cheeks over and over. The pain and pleasure are so blinding, you’re clinging to the sheets under you, crying out at how good it feels, him destroying you.

“Look at you, so pathetic, hmm?”

“Ah!”

“You’re mine. All mine. Mine.” Satoru’s whispering it like a mantra over and over, gripping your hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples of your back, sweat dripping down to your spine, he bends low to lap it up with his tongue.

“Y-yours.” Your voice is a breathy whisper, Satoru’s losing it, and you love when he does, love every filthy word pouring out of his pretty lips while he’s steadily pounding your cunt, fucking so deep you feel him everywhere. “Ngh!”

“That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Slutty little brat.”

“F-fuck! Toru!” Your head falls back, hair cascading messy down your back, urging Satoru to pull it, shoving his cock so deep, you’re trembling as your cunt gushes sticky arousal all over his veiny cock, earning his groan. Satoru’s bent over you, pulling your hair, kissing you so deeply, your tongues messy and dripping as you sob into his lips with pleasure.

“That’s it, milking my cock, huh?” He whispers now, pulling you up so you’re balancing on your shaky hands and knees.

“Fuck I missed this.” You whisper back, he moans, nodding, burying his head against your neck.

“You miss screaming like a perfect slut?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“Want all this cum in your cunt, huh?”

“Please, please, please.”

“So desperate, so needy.” Satoru’s fucking you harder now, grunting as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock, his balls slapping your overstimulated clit while he fucks you so hard from behind. He’s gripping your hair harder, his hand wrapping your throat now, shoving two fingers deep in your mouth, you suck them eagerly. “Cry for me, pretty. I love how good those tears look.”

“Mnh.” Is all you manage, while Satoru takes you over, fucking you so deep, his fingers shoved into your mouth, so deep your nearly choke, you’re slobbering all over them, spit drooling as your cunt drools on his cock, making him gasp and slow.

“Feel too good, too perfect.” His voice is softer, fingers still in your mouth, other hand wrapping your neck and squeezing, hugging you completely to his hard, lithe body while he’s pounding your pussy. You’re close again, and this time so intense you’re floating, no longer even here. “Perfect cocksleeve for me, huh?”

You nod as he pulls his fingers out, pressing you down into the mattress, his cock kissing your cervix again and again, hand around your throat squeezing as insane blue eyes look into yours. You try to focus, to cling to the blankets as if they’ll tether you, as he’s filling you so full, your tummy pressed into the mattress, cock wrecking anything you have left.

“Satoru! L-love…. You….” You hear his groan, he’s biting your earlobe, squeezing your throat harder, making it go fuzzy, blissful.

“Fucking love you, so much, so much… everything in me… loves you…” You’re crying now, at the love in your heart, at the sensations of your husband wrecking your cunt, wrecking your mind, your soul.

“S’all yours. All of me, all of it. Yours, yours, yours.” You squeak out the words, his hand lifts from your throat, turning your face to him, blue eyes devouring yours, studying your everything, hips rolling so his cock is slamming your spot, and your own eyes flutter in and out of focus, you’re clinging to his forearm, cunt dripping.

“I’m yours, baby girl. Always, always, always.” He’s exhaling now, kissing you again, cupping your jaw so possessive, while he’s taking you over. “Cum with me, let me feel that perfect pussy milk me.”

“Please, cum in me.” You’re gasping when he’s fucking you so deep, burying his cock inside your pussy, over and over, until you feel him throbbing, and his hot white cum pouring into you.

You cum just from that, from the hot sticky white ropes filling your pussy so good, you’re so full of him, as he pumps his hot load into your eager cunt. His whimper in your ear sets you off further, you’re shaking under him as he’s breathing heavily, his cries now being drunk by your mouth. Your cunt is spasming around his cock, milking him for every bit of cum he has, Satoru’s trembling now against you.

You both lay there, kissing, rocking back and forth, he’s gently pumping more and more of his cum inside you, but you’re already pushing so much out, with the force of how much he’s made you cum. You’ve created a slick mess down the blankets, down the bed, gasping and shaking when his teeth bites your neck hard, his hand gripping your hair and pressing into your scalp.

“Oh my god, I fucking love you.” He whispers. You giggle, breathless, looking back at him with swollen lips and mascara trails on your cheeks.

“I love you, fuck… we needed this.” You tease, grinning, he relaxes his hold, laughing now too, so handsome he breaks your heart every time.

“We needed this so bad.” He eases out, exhaling, watching as your fluids and his mix, dripping down the bed. “Oh my god… so sexy.”

“Satoru!” He’s shoved your ass in the air, burying his face against your pussy, lapping his cum out of it. “Satoru!”

“More.” Is all he says, you look back at him, shaking, and your cunt is throbbing all over as you study his pretty face.

“More.” You whisper back, and now your husband is lavishing your oversensitive cunt with his stupidly talented tongue, moaning against you, whispering how much he loves your pussy, you’d almost get jealous but soon you’re sucking his cock, sucking your cum off it.

He’s moaning and whimpering while you do, while you have his rock hard again, drinking his precum up and coating your tongue with him. And when you’re riding his cock with your sore cunt, and he’s gripping your breasts, and your hair is falling to the side of you both, covering you from the world, you know you could go again, again and again.

“So fucking good, baby girl. Taking me so well.” Satoru murmurs, hands on your ass, urging you to ride him more and more.

You’re weak, a mess, sweaty, both of you. But you’re urged on by the desire, the need to be so close to each other, to lose yourselves, and as you’re riding his cock so good, and he’s sucking on your nipples, moaning with his perfect lips, you can’t get enough. Neither of you can get enough, over and over, all goddamn night, until you’re both sore, exhausted, messes.

He’s ready for more, kissing you, still buried inside your pussy and hardening in you, caressing your face, lashes low. “Want another baby?” He whispers, smirking now, and you sigh.

“No!”

“One more?” He pleads, pressing deeper inside your pussy.

“No…” He’s grinning, fucking into your sore cunt, it hurts to take him but you crave it, you need it, need him.

“I’m putting another baby in you, brat.” He whispers against your lips, and your cunt is drooling down his cock, as you’re stretched and fucked beyond your means, he’s not stopping, and you don’t want him to.

You cup his face, eyes flickering down to his body, his abs flexing as he fucks into you. “One more.”

The Next Day

“Oh my god.” Your kids are running circles as you pull up your next case, looking at Satoru with a big grin.

“What is it, Miss Brat?” He asks, tapping his pen on his desk, flipping his page, blue eyes locking on yours.

“My next case… it’s apparently prosecuting Mr. Banks.”

Satoru pauses, then scowls, standing up, leaning forward with his hands on his desk now. “Excuse me!?”

“Sure is. Hmm, maybe I’ll take it. See if I can make the infamous Satoru Gojo lose a case.” You stand too now, leaning over your desk, lips turning up as his do now too.

“Oh yeah, you're challenging me? Psh. Rookie.” You cross your arms now, looking at the girls.

“Who would win, me or Daddy?”

“Mama!” Faye shouts.

“Papa!” Noriko argues now.

You walk to Satoru Gojo then, your husband, the father of your children, your best damn friend in the world. And he’s walking to you, meeting you in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets as he leans down. He brushes your hair behind your ear, smirks down at you, leaning to whisper against your lips, letting you taste his cool breath, inhaling his scent.

“Think you can beat me in any case, Miss Brat?” He asks, sarcastic tone dripping, conceited as fuck and tempting you to know end.

You lean against his lips, as your kids are giggling. “I sure do think I can. In fact, I’ll win.”

But you’ve already won, haven’t you? You have Satoru Gojo, now and always, and now his beautiful family. Who cares if he probably will stomp your ass in a case?

“I already won.” He says, mirroring your thoughts, you kiss him gently, pulling back and then raising a brow.

“So… challenge on, Professor?” You tease.

Satoru grins. “Challenge on, Miss Brat.”

The End

A/N: I am so emotional, I've been writing this one since June and I truly love Professor Dickhead and Miss Brat SO much. They have a huge chunk of my heart. I hope you all enjoyed their end, it seems as if Gojo Family Law firm will be having even more added to it aha. Love you all and see you in the others!!

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gr1ffins · 2 months ago

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Been up very late thinking about how old everyone is in Babel, because it’s not something ever directly spoken about in the book, save for Robin in the first chapter.

Kuang leaves just enough details for us to put together the ages of characters. I like that she doesn’t explicitly say things, and makes you figure it out.

Spoilers below!

‘So where are you from?’

‘Canton.’

‘I was born in Macau. I don’t remember if I ever went to Canton. So then, when did he bring you over?’

‘To London?’

‘No, you dolt, to Manila. Yes, London.’

His brother, Robin thought, could be quite an ass. ‘Six — no, seven years ago now.’

‘Incredible.’ Griffin turned left onto Banbury Road without warning; Robin hastened to follow. ‘No wonder he never went looking for me. Had something better to focus on, didn’t he?’

Chapter Five, pages 95-96.

The year is 1836, and this is Robin’s first year attending Babel, his first week in fact. We know that Robin was taken in by Lovell at 11, so he’s 18 in this scene. (‘…seven years ago now.’)

This confirms students are 18 when they begin attending Babel, and then 22 by the time they graduate in their 4 year. I’ll be using this as my basis.

We still don’t have any confirmation on how old Griffin is. Until a scene much later in the book.

‘Keep it,’ said Professor Lovell.

‘Sir?’

‘I have been staring at that bar everyday for the past five years, wondering where I went wrong with Griffin. If I had raised him differently, or seen him earlier for what he was, if Evie would still — but never mind.’ Professor Lovell’s voice hardened.

Chapter 15, page 268.

The year is 1839, Robin and his cohort have just concluded their third year at Babel. They are all 21 years old, maybe 20 if they have birthdays late in the summer. This segment implies that Evie was killed five years before this, in 1834, just two years before Robin arrived at Babel.

Let me restate this:

Robin was already 16 when Griffin killed Evie. And how old was Griffin when he killed Evie?

As they flipped through the ledger, another theory became more evident. Evie had been wildly prolific between the years 1833 and 1834, but by 1835, her research had dropped completely off the record. Not a single innovation in the past five years. They'd never met an Evie Brooke at any of the departmental parties or dinners; she’d given no lectures, no seminars. Whoever Eveline Brooke was, as brilliant as she'd been, she was clearly no longer at Babel.

'Hold on,' said Victoire. 'Suppose she graduated in 1833. That would have put her in the same class as Sterling Jones. And Anthony!’

And Griffin, Robin realized, though he did not say this out loud.

'Perhaps she was also lost at sea,' said Letty.

'A cursed class, then, that,’ observed Ramy.

The room suddenly felt very cold.

Chapter 13, page 230.

So, Griffin’s cohort graduated in 1833. They would’ve been 22, at that time. Evie died in 1834, so she was just barely 23, at best. Griffin died in 1840, so he was, at oldest, 29.

Same with Anthony and Sterling. It’s very likely they were all still 28, as during the hostile takeover over of Babel, Hilary term (January-March) barely began:

They'd chosen a good day for revolution.

It was the first day of term, and one of the rare days in Oxford when the weather was deceitfully marvellous; when its warmth promised more sunshine and joy than the relentless rain and sleet Hilary inevitably brought.

Chapter 26, page 447

Considering they died just before this, I think it’s safe to assume Griffin, Anthony, and Sterling were all 28. This means they were likely 24 when the story began.

So, to conclude, Griffin is Robin’s older brother by 6 years.

I do find it very in-character for Professor Lovell to have never told Griffin about Robin, even outside of plot reasons. It’s mentioned many times that Professor Lovell only speaks about things when he deems it absolutely necessary, and is otherwise very vague. He would have no reason to tell Griffin about Robin, because that would imply he cares to some degree.

It would be, in some strange form, acknowledging they are family. Why else would Griffin need to know? So yes, I think Professor Lovell would’ve completely omitted the fact Griffin has a brother, just as he did with Robin’s other siblings still in China.

It’s entirely possible that if Griffin continued to stay undercover at Babel, he would’ve just been smacked in the face one day with the fact he has a half brother. In the middle of Babel. The possibility makes me hysterical.

#babel rf kuang #griffin harley #griffin lovell #babel an arcane history #anthony ribben #rf kuang #babel or the necessity of violence #robin swift #ramy mirza #ramiz rafi mirza #victoire desgraves #letitia price #letty price #sterling jones #professor lovell #evelyn brooke

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vigilante24ish · 8 months ago

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🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1553

Chapter 23:

With little time to spare, everyone rushed to find thick branches or tree roots they could somehow detach.

Then, they proceeded to wrap it with cords, leaves, or vines; each adding their little own touch to them. At the same time, Lilia was commenting on how she hated the brooms and flying due to how often media associated with witches.

The only one not participating was you, who simply kept guard; ready to blast magic at anything that moved.

When everyone had done the couple ritual, where two witches enchanted and exchanged brooms; only then did they notice you with no broom in hand.

"Wait, Y/N doesn't have a broom," Alice pointed out, earning the coven's attention.

"Can't we make her one?" Teen asked, surprised by the fact that you had remained quiet and broomless.

"Only if we were am even number. We can't give her one of our own brooms, " Jen explained.

You waved your hand dissimively to ease the worries of your coven. "I don't need it either way. I can use my magic to fly, " you explained, earning different expressions from them.

Teen smiled in excitement. "Wait, you can fly with magic?"

Jen scoffed. "Of course you can,"

Alice seemed interested. "If it is a spell that allows you, we should be fine,"

Surprisingly, neither Agatha nor Rio seemed to agree with the idea.

"Absolutely not," Agatha argued. "We need to stick together, and she can't match a broom's speed."

Rio nodded faintly. "Better her riding with someone. She can join me. "

"Safest option is with me." Agatha disagreed, arguing with Rio while you stood not so far away; having no saying even though the topic was about you.

Before anyone else could comment or extend the argument, one of the Salem Seven appeared almost out of thin air; close to Alice and Teen.

The protection witch, though, acted fast and used the broom to smack and attack the corrupted witch; sending them on the ground.

Just then, Lilia took notice of something by the end of her peripheral vision.

"Agatha!" She exclaimed as another Salem Seven witch had appeared and now too close to its original target.

This time, you were faster to react.

Sliding on the muddy ground, you managed to cover the distance between your lover and you. As you pushed your legs to stand up, you extended your left hand and wrapped it around Agatha's waist; pulling her closer to your body that was positioned sideways but also further away from the enemy.

At the same time, white magic had gathered in your right hand, and you extended it forward; placing it on the chest of the cursed witch.

Your magic worked like a powerhouse, causing pain to the mind hired witch while also sending them flying back; quite a distance.

The force and momentum of the attack had even caused a weak wind current that moved some of your strands back while you stood there, holding Agatha by the waist.

Agatha had not expected the blind attack from her sworn enemy, so to speak, and neither your interference. Yet here she was, both hands grasping your upper arm as the sudden pull had her losing her balance; resulting in her slightly leaning back.

She stared at your profile for a moment longer, surprised by your attack but also the position you two were in; momentarily forgetting the grave danger that was approaching.

"How did you do that?" Alice questioned, the first to break the odd silence and also ruin your little mood.

You helped Agatha stand properly and did not fail to glance at Rio first, taking notice of the face she pulled. It was her silent way of saying 'not bad' along with the lines 'I am impressed'.

"I find hurling and throwing your magic from afar rather risky and also makes it easier for the enemy to dodge or block" you explained as you turned to face her, your hand still wrapped around Agatha's waist and her hands still holding your upper arm for dear life. "Instead, unleashing your magic in close quarters has a higher chance of success, and the impact is more powerful."

Teen looked at you as if seeing their idol live on stage, his dark eyes glowing with interest. "Wow," he exclaimed, unable to find where to start his questions.

Jen cleared her throat, having enough of the unnecessary talk. Mind hived witches were after them, and she would love to get as far as possible from the danger.

"Think we can finish this later," she commented. "We need to go,"

"We still haven't decided who will fly with Y/N.

"She can fly with me," Teen said, lifting his hand halfway as he spoke. "I have never used a broom before... I mean an enchanted broom cause I have used normal brooms at home -"

"Enough, kid," Agatha said, lifting her hand to silence him. "Let us go. She flies with you. "

Rio looked at Agatha, clearly not fulling agreeing but said nothing. Instead, she watched you walk towards the teenager, the two of you exchanging a smile.

"Let's do this," you told him as you both held the broom in your hands.

Wasting no more time, you all started to run towards one direction. One by one, everyone jumped on the brooms and mounted them; quickly gaining height.

"Wait! How do I-"

You interrupted the Teen. "On my mark, mount the broom," you instructed, and as Lilia took flight, your chance arrived. "Now!"

Without hesitation, he jumped and mounted the broom. His hands held it for dear life just as you managed to mount the broom right behind him.

"Wow!" He exclaimed as the broom slowly started going up while also gaining more and more speed.

At the same time, you could hear Lilia laughing from joy and Alice having the time of her life, both exprtely navigating the broom.

The ones having he easiest time were Agatha and Rio, who have also taken the lead and had the most experience flying on brooms.

It was hard, at first, with the low branches, and the boy had stated to worry; feeling the loops and sudden moves would throw him off, even if your hands were around his waist.

"Oh, God!" Teen exclaimed.

Lilia was amused. "Try praying to the Divine Mother, kid," he advised the future witch.

Just then, an opening was presented, and one by one, the coven flew up; heading for the night sky.

Teen hesitated, seeing the claw like branches and the fact that he had to fly almost straight up; his mind reminding him of what gravity would do if he tried.

"Please, divine mother," he prayed and dared to closs his eyes as he tried to guide the broom up.

He felt a cold ethereal touch on top of his hands and then the sudden feeling of your stomach dropping while the pressure and change of air hit you all in once.

Thankfully for him, the up way was short and before he knew it; the broom was vertical again, and he could feel the cold night air against his cheek and curly hair.

Opening his eyes, he was left in awe at the beautiful sight of the Red full moon right next to everyone.

He looked down, noticing how small the trees looked, how normal the road seemed, and how fast you were going.

It was then he saw an extra pair of hands placed on top of his, remembering this ethereal feeling of magic he felt when he prayed to the Divine Mother for the first time. He turned to look above his shoulder, seeing you leaning against his back and having a smirk on your face.

"You're welcome, kiddo," you told him, making him smile faintly as a thank you. "Eyes forward and don't you dare close them again"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am"

As the coven flew in formation, Agatha took a moment to breathe the cold air and be reminded of the sense of freedom she had been denied for so long. Broom flying was always so freeing, offering a sensation few things could truly match.

But then she dared to look at her right and saw Rio, in all her supernatural glory, riding that broom; her face screaming confidence and raw power as the wind blew back her hair.

Conflicted and defeated, Agath tried to look at her left and take some comfort in the blood red moon when she noticed you and Teen gaining speed.

You giggled faintly as you were trying to instruct the boy how to hold the broom and how to command it.

At that moment, you seemed to be happy and relaxed, clearly enjoying teaching him. He was also chuckling faintly as he absorbed everything you told him, doing his best to make you proud and show you that he was paying attention.

Agatha could not help but imagine you, being the same to Nicholas had he ever the chance to grow. Spending time with him, teach him the brooms, the stars, and so many things.

Her heart felt heavy, and she did not dare to trail further down that path. Instead, she looked forward again and tried to focus on anything but you with the boy and Rio.

Chapter 24

#agatha all along #protective agatha #protective rio #agatha harkness #agatha spoilers #agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #moon phases fanfic #marvel #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza

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calmingmelody96 · 1 month ago

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The Dragon's Niece

Chapter 23 - The Dragon's Joy

Warnings: medival sexism, forced marriage, uncle-niece incest, possessiveness, pregnancy

Masterlist

The weeks passed gently, each one settling like a soft layer of snow over Maeliora’s world. Her belly, once flat, had begun to round with quiet insistence. There was no denying it anymore, not to herself, not to Daemon, not to the curious stares of the keep’s servants. The child within her was growing stronger by the day, and so, strangely, was her sense of peace.

Mornings were slow and warm. Daemon had taken to rising later than usual, often just to stay curled beside her, his hand resting possessively over her growing belly. Sometimes he spoke to it in Valyrian, murmuring things only Maeliora understood, and the sound of his voice made her chest ache in the most tender way.

Daeron was full of questions — endless, curious, and eager.

“Is it a boy or a girl? When will you know, mother? When is it finally coming out? And how will it come out from your belly, mother?” he’d ask, sitting cross-legged on the bed, his small hand trying to feel a kick. “Will it get a dragon egg too, like I did, father? Can it sleep in my room? Will it speak in our special language or do you have to teach it first, father?”

She would laugh and promise they’d find out together in time. Watching Daeron with such excitement, already imagining himself as an older brother, made something tight and heavy loosen in her chest.

Daemon, lounging nearby with a goblet in hand, only smirked at their son’s relentless enthusiasm. “Seven hells, boy,” he muttered, amused. “You ask more questions than a maester at council.” Still, he ruffled Daeron’s hair fondly and added, “You’ll be a fine brother. Fierce. Like a dragon should be.”

Daemon, for all his usual pride and sharpness, had become... softer with her, in his own strange way. He would carry her to bed if she looked even slightly tired. He sent for sweet fruits and rare creams when she mentioned an ache. And though he still teased, still smirked and called her “my fierce little wife” — there was a protectiveness in his touch that doubled after her pregnancy. He shadowed her steps, questioned every meal, and looked at the world as if it might rise against her at any moment.

Sometimes, she’d catch him just watching her. Not with hunger, but something deeper. Something reverent.

“You’re more radiant than a summer sky, Niece” he’d said one evening, brushing her hair with slow fingers. “And I intend to make you bloom like this again and again.”

She had rolled her eyes, but her heart had soared all the same.

Despite the nausea and moodiness, the sleepless nights and aching hips, Maeliora found herself happy. For the first time in years, she felt like the center of something whole — loved, protected, and held.

And the dragon at her side, for all his fire and fury, had never looked at anyone the way he looked at her now.

One night, Daemon slipped into their chambers late, the scent of wine and fire clinging to his cloak. He bent low, kissed her cheek, then her belly, and murmured against her skin, “Prepare yourself, wife. Choose your prettiest gown. There will be a feast in a fortnight.”

Maeliora looked up at him, brows lifted in sleepy surprise. “A feast? Why?”

He gave that familiar, crooked smirk, the look on his face sharp and proud. “To celebrate the arrival of our second child, of course. Let them raise their cups or choke on it, I don’t care. The blood of the dragon grows strong, and the realm should know it.”

The Great Hall of Dragonstone had never looked so alive.

Firelight danced across dark stone walls, casting golden reflections on goblets, polished plates, and silken banners stitched with the sigil of House Targaryen. Long tables brimmed with roasted meats, spiced fruits, sugared pastries, and wine that flowed as freely as the music rising from the minstrels in the corner. The air was rich with warmth, spice, and something rarer — joy.

At the high table, Daemon sat like a king of old Valyria, his goblet raised and his arm settled possessively around Maeliora’s chair. His smile was faint, but his eyes gleamed with unmistakable pride. Every time someone offered a toast to the growing child, his fingers would tighten ever so slightly on the curve of her back, like he was staking claim not only on her, but on this moment, this legacy.

Maeliora sat beside him in a flowing gown of deep crimson and black, the fabric chosen by Daemon himself. Her hair was swept back, her face lit by soft candlelight, and the unmistakable glow of a woman well loved, well watched over. She was the star of the evening, though she hadn’t asked to be.

Every eye was drawn to her. Some with curiosity. Some with resentment. Others with admiration.

Even Daeron, small though he was, had a place of honor at the high table, grinning as he tore into honeyed bread and answered questions far too seriously for his age. “It’s a boy, I shall have a brother” he said with authority, though no one had confirmed it. “And I’ll teach him everything I know. Even how to speak High Valyrian.”

Maeliora reached for her son’s hand and squeezed it gently, a smile playing at her lips. The sight of him beside her, and Daemon just beyond, filled her with a strange, fragile sense of completeness.

Daemon leaned close to her ear. “They can drink and feast all they like,” he murmured. “But none of them will ever have what I have.”

She turned to him, brow raised. “Which is?”

He grinned, devilish and soft all at once. “You.”

Maeliora’s breath caught, but she said nothing. There were no words that could match the way he said it.

Daemon raised his goblet and stood.

“To my wife,” he said, his voice ringing over the crowd. The room fell quiet. “To the mother of my children. To the fiercest, most radiant creature ever to walk these cursed halls.” He looked down at her, gaze unflinching.

The crowd erupted into cheers and raised glasses. Maeliora, flushed and blinking back tears she’d never admit to, could only reach for his hand beneath the table and hold it like a lifeline.

The feast roared on, laughter echoing, goblets clinking, and music swelling with renewed fervor, but for a moment, it all seemed to dim as Daemon rose from his seat and extended a hand toward Maeliora.

She blinked, startled. “What are you doing, Uncle?”

“Dancing with my wife,” he said simply. His smirk softened just enough to betray the truth behind it. “Come, prepare to be admired properly.”

Around them, the hall quieted. Nobles turned to watch, their curiosity thinly veiled, some surprised that the Rogue Prince would stoop to something as tender as a slow dance. But Daemon cared little for their stares or whispered judgments. His gaze was fixed solely on her, his heart beat only for her. Every intention he held was devoted to her — to cherish her, to protect her, and to make her the happiest woman alive.

Maeliora hesitated for the briefest moment, then took his hand.

Daemon led her down the short steps into the cleared center of the hall. He drew her close with practiced ease. One hand rested gently on the small of her back, the other held her hand as if it were a crown jewel. She felt his thumb brush over her knuckles, slow and reverent. Her free hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers curling instinctively into his tunic.

They moved in easy, fluid steps, like they had done this a hundred times before, though neither of them truly had. Daemon, for all his sharpness and bite, was quiet now. Focused. Every step was measured, every glance full of wordless feeling.

“You’re staring, Uncle” she murmured.

“Don't I always?,” he replied. “And I never tire of it.”

Maeliora’s lips twitched. “You’re being sentimental.”

“I’m allowed,” he murmured, spinning her gently, his hand never leaving her back. “It’s a feast. You’re glowing. I’m half drunk. And the realm is forced to watch as I dance with the most beautiful woman in the world and she is carrying my child in her womb. Let me have this.”

She laughed under her breath, swaying closer into his arms. The music curled around them like smoke, but nothing else existed. Not the lords and ladies whispering behind goblets, not the distant tension of a realm at war with itself.

Only this.

Daemon leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers.

“When you’re old and grey,” he murmured, “you’ll remember this night.”

She smiled, breath caught in her throat. “Will you still dance with me then?”

“Even if my knees give out,” he promised. “But I expect you to hold me up.”

“Always,” she whispered.

The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Red Keep's throne room, casting colored patterns on the cold stone floor. But the air in the Small Council chamber was thick with unease. King Viserys sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. The usual murmur of courtly discussions had given way to a tense silence.

A courtier approached, bowing deeply. "Your Grace, news from Dragonstone," he announced, voice trembling slightly.

Viserys leaned forward, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Has my brother finally responded to my letters?"

The courtier hesitated. "No, Your Grace. But... it's said that Princess Maeliora is with child."

A hush fell over the throne room. Otto Hightower's expression tightened, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on his belt. Gwayne Hightower, standing nearby, clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing.

Viserys's face was a mask of conflicting emotions — joy, betrayal, concern. He looked up slowly, his gaze sharp. "Is this confirmed?"

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, clearing his throat, “Prince Daemon has hosted a feast in celebration of... his wife’s pregnancy.”

The murmur that rippled through the hall was immediate.

Viserys sat upright, eyes narrowing. “A feast?” he echoed.

He swallowed hard and nodded cautiously. “It is said to have been… lavish. Bonfires in the courtyard. Musicians. Even banners bearing the three-headed dragon... the sigil of House Targaryen... They toasted to a strong dragon yet to be born.”

Otto Hightower's lips pressed into a hard line. “And yet not a single word sent to King’s Landing. Not to you, Your Grace. He celebrates his defiance.”

Gwayne Hightower, who had stood silent until now, shifted uncomfortably. His jaw clenched, the knuckles of his gloved hand whitening as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “He parades her like a conquest,” he muttered under his breath, too low for many to hear, though the look Viserys gave him suggested otherwise.

Lord Lyonel Strong, interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Perhaps Prince Daemon is merely preoccupied with the affairs of Dragonstone. The arrival of a child is a significant event."

Gwayne couldn't contain himself any longer. "Or perhaps he's deliberately ignoring the crown, flaunting his defiance."

Otto shot his son a warning glance, but the damage was done. Viserys's gaze settled on Gwayne, cold and piercing.

"Mind your words, Ser Gwayne," the king said icily. "This is a family matter."

The room fell silent once more. Viserys stood, his robes rustling. "I will summon Prince Daemon to King's Landing. This matter requires a face-to-face discussion."

Otto bowed slightly. "As you command, Your Grace."

As the council dispersed, whispers filled the corridors of the Red Keep. The news of Maeliora's pregnancy had set the court abuzz, and the implications were far-reaching. Alliances would shift, loyalties would be tested, and the realm would watch closely as the Targaryen family's internal dynamics played out on the grand stage of Westeros.

♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen, @claud012, @aleemendoza2425-blog, @archerxnn @jessimay89

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littledes1re · 10 hours ago

Text

How to Disappear | Chapter: Four

Summary: Joel is feeling restless, sick. He doesn‘t want to let you go. Maybe there is room for an explanation. For doing things better. Maybe there is an apology tucked behind his sorrow. And maybe you are ready to hear him out.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, unprotected sex (uh oh), Fluff, Angst, dealing with grief, guilt, alcohol problems, crying, age gap! (23 and 61)

A/N: this took FOREVER😭 I‘m finally done. Buckle up, because things are getting messy😗

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that lingered, expanding through the room until every corner swam in stillness. A quiet so deep, it amplified the noise inside your head, until your own thoughts became deafening, too loud—almost too much to bear. And then there was that smell. Cinnamon and vanilla. Warm, sweet, familiar. Turning into a ghost of a memory, soft and fleeting. It used to mean comfort. Now, it was just what was left behind—a trace of something once cherished, now buried in the cold and wet ground.

The cabin hadn’t changed. The same worn blankets and pillows lay scattered across the old couch, just as you had left them. The kitchen echoed afternoons spent baking cookies with your mother. The wooden walls, aged and weathered, creaked with the weight of time. You still wondered how they had survived this long. Even the dust, caught in the slivers of morning light, floated with a kind of reverence—as if the place remembered you too.

Yet, it felt unfamiliar, uncomfortable, cold—like a heartache. Your heart ached as you walked through your mother’s cabin. How many years, days, minutes, seconds had you spent there, your life cupped by your mother’s hands, her voice leading you, her feelings shaping you? How many times had you sat on her lap, listening to her sweet voice, reading through your favourite book? How many times had you lain in her bed, her fingers running through your hair?

Tears slipped one by one as you walked through the old cabin. Taking it in, trying to feel her. Trying to find a way to make everything less painful.

You sank onto your mother’s bed, fingers trembling as you grasped at the blanket. The fabric still held her scent, and the moment you breathed it in, a sob tore through you. It came raw and breathless, like grief had taken up residence in your lungs. The pain was overwhelming, as if someone were driving nails straight through your heart.

Shock still wrapped around you like fog, numbing your mind. You didn’t know how to be in a world where she no longer was.

As the sun nearly disappeared behind the trees, you looked toward the window. Cracked and threaded with cobwebs, it framed the falling dusk like a forgotten painting. And then—you heard her. Her voice, soft and clear, blooming inside the silence. Speaking to you the way she always had: gently, lovingly, as though her arms were still around you, rocking you into dreams.

„What the hell do you think you two are doing in here?“

Your eyes snapped open. First, you saw the white ceiling. Then you noticed that you were clung to someone—Joel. He was lying next to you, sleeping while your leg was wrapped around his torso. And as your eyes drifted away from him, it landed on your fathers angry ones. He was standing in front of the bed, seemingly fuming and in disbelief—still wearing his the clothes from evening but messier. Your head couldn’t even register of what was happening. Why Joel was besides you, why your dad was already home.

And then it hit you.

The awful, gut sinking realization of being caught with your father's buddy settled like ice beneath your skin. Goosebumps rose along your arms as you stared at him, stunned and speechless, your mouth hanging open like a gaping fish.

„Joel. Joel—wake up!“

Joel groaned, hand cupping his forehead, rubbing his eyes. He probably had a big headache after how much he drank yesterday, but that didn‘t matter. What mattered is Joel‘s expression when he saw you, looking as worried as ever. Then your father. You could see him swallow, slowly sitting up on the bed and opening his mouth, trying to say something, but just like you—he was too shocked to react.

„I‘m asking again—what the fuck, are you doing with my daughter in her bed?!“

„This isn‘t what it looks like dad!“ You quickly rise to face your father, and for a brief moment, the intensity in his eyes unnerves you. He’s never been aggressive—just distant. The only times you’ve seen him visibly frustrated or aggressive were, when his favorite soccer team lost. But this was different. The tips of his ears were flushed red; if cartoons mirrored reality, steam would be pouring from them. And while you stood there, holding his gaze, shame washed over you—shame that you slept with his best friend, that you had a relationship with him, behind your father's back. It didn’t matter how things were between you and Joel now. What mattered was that your father had caught you both, asleep in the same bed. And he would never understand that you and Joel had been something long before this.

„Unbelievable. Is this who you are now? Just hopping into bed with anyone who gives you attention?“ He scoffs, shaking his head. You flinch at his words, but at the same time—your eyes get wide. You never expected him to say things like that. „You’ve thrown away every ounce of respect I had for you. Acting like you’re some… desperate little thing.“

Before you can speak, Joel rises to stand beside you.

„Okey, that’s enough.“ Joel’s voice is calm but sharp, like the edge of a blade. It makes your heart drop for a second, scared of what he has to say. „You don’t get to talk to her like that. Not after everything she’s been through. Not after how you’ve treated her.“

Your father’s eyes lock with his, a silent storm brewing. You can see his fists clenched, anger running through his veins. But Joel doesn’t stop, he doesn‘t back down. „You’re angry? Fine. Be angry. But don’t take it out on her because you can’t handle the truth.“

Your father doesn’t respond. Not with another insult. Not even a glare. He just stands there, fists still clenched, jaw twitching. The air in the room feels thick, like you can’t breathe—you are scared that this escalates.

Then Joel steps forward.

„You want the truth?“ his voice is calm, too calm. The kind that carries more danger than a yell.

„You don’t get to be outraged now—not after years of neglecting her as a father. She didn’t do this to hurt you. You did this. With your silence. With your distance. You weren’t there.“

You stiffen.

It feels like Joel is saying something, that he has been bottling up for long now.

And his voice doesn’t waver.

„She needed someone—when things got hard, when she was slipping. You weren’t around. But I was.“

You suck in a breath that feels like it barely makes it to your lungs. The embarrassment runs through you. This situation makes you feel like a helpless little girl, needing saving from all mightily Joel. But why does that hit so hard? You want to scream at him to stop—to stop making it sound like you’re fragile, like you’re broken. But the worst part is… it’s true. Every word of it.

Your father shifts, eyes flicking from Joel to you. There's something behind them now—something shaken. And for once, he doesn’t say a word.

He just leaves.

And you don’t move. Not right away. You’re frozen between all the things you’ve never said and the ones you’re too scared to admit you feel. You can‘t grasp at what happened, can‘t believe that your father found you, and now knows about you and Joel.

The silence is sickening until he turns to you.

„Are you okay?“

His tone is gentle, too gentle. It makes the ache in your chest worse. It makes you feel worse that he acts like nothing happened, that he can just be there with you as if he didn‘t do all of that to you, maybe even worse.

You swallow the storm inside you and say, „I don’t need your help, Joel.“ And continue with, „You say ‚you were there, instead of him‘ but then you left me too. Like i‘m nothing.“

His face falters—just for a second. But you look away.

You grab your hoodie, your phone, whatever's nearby, and you walk out. Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to keep from unraveling. And as the hallway swallows you, all you can think is about making sure to never let yourself crumble in front of him again.

„Hey, dad. Can you come pick me up? I was gonna go with my other friends but they are going somewhere else. I’m waiting at Hayley’s house.“

Whenever Joels mind is a quiet storm, brewing and eating him up from inside, her voice is looped like an endless path, echoing from the darkest pits of hell. Nothing to shut it up, other than drowning himself into that same almost awful tasting liquor, just to not feel and hear anything. And these thoughts were accompanied by you. Your face, your voice, your body, your laugh, your feelings and your heart. At one point there were bitter sweet moments of the two of you sneaking away from your father, and holding hands at the back of his truck, while star gazing. The other times it‘s you—crying—crumbling in front of him, trying to understand why he wants to end things, why he doesn‘t like you anymore.

And oh, how much he wanted to take you into his arms, protect you from the angry eyes of your father. When he saw your lip trembling, your hands silently shaking, your chest going up and down, quickly, like it was hard for you to breathe.

Joel knew, you could defend yourself from him, that you didn‘t need any saving. All the things he threw on your father’s head were the things he longed to say—ever since meeting your family…ever since meeting you. The way you turned your head back when you realised that your father is not listening, the way you asked Joel to help you with the broken light switch in your room. He could see that your feelings were never meant to be for your father, instead for your mother. And maybe his feelings started right then and there. Maybe, he can remember feeling like a creep, like a pervert of thinking of you any other way than he should. Yet, he couldn‘t help himself. Your voice led his path, your eyes blurred his mind and your soft touches made him feel like human again.

„Ain‘t drinkin‘, I see.“

The glass of scotch smiled to him, as it sat on the table. His hands got sweaty, trying his best not to pick it up and throw it down his throat.

„Nah. Tryin’ to sober up.“ Joel lowered his head, avoiding his brother’s first reaction at that information. Tommy had been the first to recommend and push him towards rehab—Joel declined every time.

„Wow. That’s great, brother.“

Joel lift his head up, caught his smile, then cringed, shaking his own.

„No, no. It’s really great.“ Tommy’s smile widened as he nodded his head.

It was you seeing him like that, that changed his mind. When he knocked on your door yesterday, with wobbly legs and a dizzy head. Your eyes scanning his face, worry filling your eyes. He couldn’t bear looking at you, not like this. He excepted you, shutting the door on his face, being angry—something. Instead you took him in. That’s when Joel realised he needs to get better, he needs to be better for you. He knows there is no room for an apology. There is no room for explanation. But there is room for doing better and being there for you again.

„Don’t look at me like that.“ Joel shook his head.

„No, I swear. S‘great. Just…“

„Just what?“ he questioned, his gaze going from his younger brothers furrowed eyebrows to his question filled eyes.

„Been trying to get you to do that for ages now, you know. What made you do it?“

One part of Joel feels relieved that his brother asked this question. Because he didn‘t know how to start talking about you. Joel came here with one goal: to confess, ask for advice, and maybe find some reassurance. But the other side of him is flooded with worry. Worry of how his younger brother will accept the news, that he got together with his best friends daughter, and then dumped her, like she was nothing.

„You…you remember dave from the construction site?“ Joel asked, beginning slowly. Unsure.

Tommy‘s eyes scanned to room for a moment, before he remembered him. A quick nod of his head and Joel continued.

„Well, he has a daughter and— I don‘t know how to tell you this.“

„Joel.“ you murmured, your eyes opening again, softly landing on his worried ones. What was supposed to be a cinema evening under the stars, turned into his fingers tangled into your hair, you sitting on his lap and making out with him.

„S‘this okay?“ he asks, breathless. And when you nod your head, yes, he crashes his lips into you once again. His beard scratching your face, your hands running through his curls. And you can feel that Joel is holding himself back—like he hasn‘t made out with someone forever and he is testing waters. But it still feels like love. Like tension that’s been coiled for months—finally released. And Joel can remember it to be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Your lips pretty and plump as you catch your breath, hair messy and clothes all over the place. He wants you all for himself, even if that seemed selfish. He wanted to say something then. Something about how he shouldn’t feel this way. About how unfair it was to want this moment to last forever when he had no right to you. But all he could do was hold you closer. And in that brief, stolen slice of time, Joel allowed himself to be selfish. To imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t a mistake. If it was the beginning of something better.

„Brother, please tell me you‘re joking“

Joel‘s gazes down, too ashamed to look at him. He knew this reaction would come, yet, he doesn‘t blame him. Every body would react this way, maybe even worse.

„How old is she?“ Tommy asks, but there is more than worry in his voice—there is judgement. And he can‘t help himself, to judge his big brother in this very moment.

„Twenty-three.“ his voice barely above a whisper.

Sixty-one and twenty-three. These numbers sat between them like something spilled. Unclean, confusing.

„I didn’t plan it. I swear. After her mom passed, she unraveled. And something in me recognized it—like a mirror. I saw the same kind of quiet collapse I went through when…“ and Joel couldn‘t say her name. The air in the room thickened, like it was trying to suffocate Joel. Only thing that made him breathe again, was his brothers eyes. Suddenly, turning understanding.

„Is it real, Joel?“ Tommy breaks the silence.

Joel met his eyes. „It is. That‘s why I left her.“

„You left her?“

Joel exhaled shakily. „I couldn’t stay. I was terrified. Every time she laughed, or leaned into me, I felt it—this panic. Like history was going to repeat itself and I’d be holding someone I couldn’t protect.“

Joel could feel his heart aching, at the thought of his daughter. He swallowed, coughing a little, looking around the room.

„You were scared you’d lose her like Sarah.“

Joel closed his eyes. He didn’t need to confirm it.

Tommy watched his brother—watched the way Joel’s face crumpled under the weight of love and fear intertwined. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t escapism. It was grief-shaped affection, forged from a connection deeper than their years and their wounds.

„It‘s…it‘s not me trying to fill the space sarah has left—“ but Tommy interrupted him. „No, No.“

„I dont think that way.“ Gentle. Reassuring.

The age gap still lingered in the back of Tommy’s mind—like something socially inconvenient, something he knew the world would question. But in Joel’s face, he didn’t see a man chasing youth. He saw a man who had finally let himself feel again. Who had chosen someone not because she was young, but because she had met him in the dark and stayed anyway.

Tommy leaned back and took a long breath. „You love her, brother.“ he said.

Joel nodded, voice trembling. „I do.“

For a long moment, they said nothing. Then Tommy stood, walked slowly across the room, and placed a hand on Joel’s shoulder—not in blessing, not in approval, just in something resembling grace.

„Then stop punishing yourself,“ he said. „Love doesn’t always make sense. But if it’s real, it’s worth the risk.“

You come here without telling anyone. Not Joel, not your father.

Especially not your father.

The gravel beneath your boots crunched with each step on the porch, but it wasn’t the weight of your body—no. It was the weight of everything you were trying not to feel. Shame, mostly. And a grief that didn’t seem to have a name anymore.

The fight with your father still echoed in your ears. The look on his face when he stood there and found Joel beside you in the bed. They hadn’t even been touching, not really. You knew that it was something innocent—resting, trying to understand the connection that is still present between the two of you. But your father saw something impossible. Something dirty, something that he can‘t forgive and forget.

He threw things. Not at you exactly, but at the idea of you—at the version of you he thought he knew, the one you had now shattered.

And Joel had stood in front of you. Shielding you. Protecting you from the cruel words of your father. You remembered the moment like a twist in your stomach. Not just because he defended you—but because you actually needed it. And you could never admit it, but Joel made you feel safe in this moment.

Sighing you walked in your mothers room for a moment, grabbing an old book from the bookshelf and blowing the dust off.

You sit down on your mother’s old rocking chair near the window, staring out into the brittle trees. The wind hadn’t picked up yet, but the branches swayed like they remembered storms past. There was a folded note tucked between the pages as you opened the book. Your mother’s handwriting. Just a recipe for soup. But the smallness of it—the ordinary domesticity—made your throat tighten. Your mother would’ve known what to say. She would‘ve told your father off, she would‘ve protected you.

But now all you had was this chair. This cabin. And memories that felt less like comfort and more like ghosts.

Joel hadn’t tried to reach out. Not yet.

And maybe, part of you wanted him to. Wanted him to walk through the door and explain it all—why he did what he did, why he looked at you like he saw something sacred, why he couldn’t hold onto it.

And the other part?

The other part hoped he never did. Because you wasn’t sure you could look at him without needing him again. And you hated that feeling. Of needing someone in your life.

Especially someone who could walk away so easily.

You gently pulled the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands and rocked slowly in the chair, letting the wooden floor creak beneath you. Outside, a bird called into the trees, unanswered. Maybe after you wake up, you feel differently.

But now, you just sat still. Listening. Remembering.

And hating him. And loving him. And not knowing the difference.

After a while a loud knock pulled you out of your sleep.

You sat up from the chair, slowly. The cabin was cold, wrapped up in evening fog and silence. You couldn‘t remember when you fell asleep, but you felt your back being tense, from sleeping on the chair for too long.

No one knew you were here.

You were unsure as you walked to the wooden door, heart thudding against your ribs with each step.

And there he was. Standing there, holding a paper bag in one hand. Steam curled lazily from the folded top, hitting you instantly. Asian noodles—your favourite. His eyes found yours instantly—wide, red rimmed and apologetic.

You didn‘t say anything.

He didn‘t either.

„How did you know I was here?“ you decided to break the silence.

Joel‘s voice was low, rough. „I just knew.“

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. The last time you talked about this cabin was one year ago, in a small sentence. He remembered that. You stepped aside before your brain even had time to agree. Joel walked in slowly, unsure, like he didn‘t belong in this kind of quiet. The cabin felt somehow smaller with him inside, like the air hung thick and heavy between you two.

He set he bag down on the small coffee table and then sank down on the couch, a big sigh leaving him, as if it emptied him.

Awkwardly and slowly, you sat down the opposite, your arms folding protectively in front of your chest. And as Joel clears his throat to start speaking, you cut him off.

„What do you want from me, Joel?“

And Joel notices that your voice is calm, too calm for his liking. It terrifies him more than a yell could. He looks around the room, not daring to look into your eyes. Your tone carried months of weight—questions layered with betrayal, confusion and grief.

„You left me.“ you continued, your voice still calm. „And now you‘re here. With food. What are you trying to do? What are you hoping for?“

He flinched, looking down at his knees. And then, finally, he dared to look at you.

„When Sarah died,“ he began slowly, „It felt like I died with her, too. Like everything crumbled upon me, the light of the world dimmed and stayed that way.“

You took a sharp breath, your heart throbbing.

„But you,“ Joel went on, „you bought it back. You made me feel like maybe…maybe life wasn‘t done with me. Like I could laugh again without any guilt. Like I could talk to someone and be psychically there.“

As Joel spoke these words, something inside of you rippled and quaked, like someone had tapped a nerve you thought you buried beneath the floorboards of this cabin. You also felt a jolt of recognition. Because somewhere in your own mourning, your own unraveling, you knew what it was like to be numb—too well. And a small part of you wants to let out a cry, letting it all go, once again in front of him. But this time you would not let it happen.

„You did the same to me,“ you snapped. Your voice cracks as you continue. „And then you ripped it out. So tell me—why the hell did you leave me Joel?“

He pressed his palms into his face, rubbing as if he could erase himself. The air felt even heavier now, the cabin like a pressure chamber.

„Because I love you.“ he whispered. „And I was scared. Scared of making your life hell. Of dragging you into all my messes—into drinking, the grief, the years I wasted being broken. I thought you‘d be better off without me.“

The words shouldn’t have hit as hard as they did. But they did.

They landed in your lungs like fog, settling into every breath, curling around every corner of your ribcage. And for a second, it felt like your heart forgot what it was doing—like the rhythm inside stalled, rewound, tried to make sense of something that had already broken.

You stared at him.

And he looked at you back.

You hated that you suddenly felt warmth rush up your spine when he looked at you like that. You hated that part of you, that wanted to run to him, wrap your arms around him, pull him down into the couch and beg him not to disappear again.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hold him and shove him out the door all in the same breath.

„Then let it be!“ you shouted out of all sudden, standing up. „If i‘m so fragile and can‘t handle you, then walk out!“

Joel stood up too. Tears clung his lashes but they didn‘t fall. He was trying and failing, holding himself together.

„And, let me not remind you of your girlfriend. How would she feel about all of this, hm?“ you asked, folding your arms in front of your chest, once again.

Joel looked like he was slapped with those words alone. Miserable. The tears finally flowing down his cheek. And he was embarrassed at what he is going to confess next.

„That was…it was staged.“ he said. „I thought, if you saw me with someone else—you‘d stop waiting. That you wouldn‘t cry for me anymore.“

Those words didn‘t hit like a slap. They hit like a bruise. Painful, slow and spreading. All over your body and insides. You folded your arms tighter, pressing warmth into yourself. And your heart felt heavy and confused—like it wasn’t sure if it belonged to you anymore. He looked at you now like he regretted it. Like he wished he’d never said it. But you couldn’t speak. Your mouth was dry with disappointment.

The silence stretched. Joel shifted in place, face pale, eyes glossed over with something close to shame.

And suddenly, you walked to him. Your hand flew before your thoughts could catch up—a sharp slap to his cheek.

Joel blinked, stunned. But he knew he deserved this. He didn‘t move, he didn‘t protest.

Another slap. But this time harder.

And then, as if you lost your mind, you surged forward and pressed your lips against his.

At first, Joel froze. His hand slid down your back, holding you unsure. Your mouth warm and frantic against his. And for a second he didn‘t understand. He thought you hated him, hated him to guts.

But something in this kiss hit harder than confusion. It felt like oxygen. It felt like finally letting go of something he had been holding on to for so long. So, he couldn‘t stop, he pulled you in, closer, opened his mouth and let you explore his. And you took that opportunity to grip his hair, kiss him harder. Your body moved with months of loneliness, questions, rage, silence and longing.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, making him release a groan into your mouth. His hands find the fabric of your shirt, going under and squeezing your skin. You two stumbled together onto the couch as you straddled Joels hips. The food long forgotten, moonlight slanting through the windows.

It was clumsy. The way your mouths kept crashing with urgency, your hands unsure what to do and where to stay. A needy whimper left your lips, and that‘s when something shifted. Joel‘s kiss grew deeper, his hand finding the hem of your shirt, disconnecting your lips for a moment and pulling it over your head. The couch cracked beneath you two, but you didn‘t care. Joel‘s hands explored your back, finding your bra and unclasping it, leaving your chest bare beneath his trembling touch. He thumbs at your nipples, pinching pulling, making you moan out—breaking the kiss.

He doesn‘t waste any time and latches into your neck—biting, kissing suckling. Harsh, demanding and desperate. You felt the ache beneath your skin as he moved to your chest, feeling the way his lips trembled. There were still tears slipping past his eyes.

As the breathing grew louder, you started to grind down on him. Whines and moans escaping your lips as you felt his tongue swirl against your nipple, his hand squeezing your body like he is afraid of letting you go.

„Baby.“ he whispers, as he sees you desperately grind on him, trying to find that pleasure that you haven‘t had for such a long time. Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Without another word, he eased his arms around your back and guided you gently to the left, lifting just enough to shift you off his lap. Your spine curved into the cushions, your breath catching.

Joel settled above you, not heavy but wholly present, lips hovering near your cheek. As you two look at each other, his hand finds your pants, hooking his fingers under the waistband with delicate intent. „Can I?“ he then asks, gentle and low. You nod your head quickly, waiting for him to pull down your pants, and everything feels familiar. It feels good, feeling his weight on top of you, his hands on your skin and the softness of it all. You pulse, ache in need, it‘s been long and you never realised how much you missed him inside.

Joel starts pulling your pants down, signalising for you to lift your bum. And when you do, you realise not only did he pull your pants down, but your panties with. There is suddenly this embarrassment running through you, as if this is the first time ever he sees you bare. It feels like it tho, after all of what happened, it feels like you and Joel are connecting like the first time ever.

He doesn‘t waste any time, spreads your legs, lowering his head and giving you a small, gentle kiss on top of your pussy before swiftly thrusting two fingers into your dipping heat. And he coos at the face you make, eyebrows softened, your mouth gaping open as he fucks you open with two fingers.

He can‘t believe he has you like this again, he can‘t believe you are letting him feel you and take care of you, like he didn‘t for the past months. There is a throbbing in his pants, and he also never realised how much that part of him missed you too. How much he missed kissing your plump lips, how much he missed that cunt clenching down on him, how much he missed those sweet noises you make, letting him know that he is making you feel good.

His lips find yours again, breathlessly making out. And while all surroundings around you disappear, you suddenly feel him filling you. Not with his fingers but his cock.

You break the kiss with a loud whine.

„I got you, baby. I know.“ his lips press against your temple, his hips gently thrusting into you; one by one, filling you with his full length.

To say you missed this, would be an understatement. You felt like on cloud nine, all the things that happened forgotten, all the tears, questions, all the silences. It made you feel whole again, it made you feel taken care of again. And it‘s not just lust—it‘s intimacy. It‘s feeling each others skin, once again. It‘s making sure the other one feels good.

And when Joel whispered your name again—like he hadn't let himself say it aloud in weeks—you felt it in your bones. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hold him still. You wanted to never forget this moment, where everything that hurt was quiet and everything that needed healing had found his hands.

You weren’t just making love.

You were remembering each other. Slowly. Like a promise.

„Joel.“ you arch your back against the couch, your hands landing on his back, gripping him steadily. His hips move in a fast rhythm, like he can‘t hold himself back anymore. You feel one hand on your clit, and with one rub you come around him, pulsing, clenching. So fast, like it’s been ages, since you felt something. Your breaths shuddering and whines leaving your throat. He groans into the loud cabin, and he needs no more than three thrusts, as he comes in you, burying his head into your neck.

You lay there together, bodies tangled and breath still unsteady. The couch creaked quietly beneath you two, the cushions sunken under the weight of everything you two just shared. The air was still thick with heat and the faint scent of pinewood and soup gone cold.

You could still feel the tremble in his body.

His face still buried inside your neck, as if he was afraid to look at you. Only when you say his name, he looks at you and you realise what he is hiding. His tears. One by one, going down his cheek. Your heart throbs as you cup his cheek.

His lips tremble as he lets out a breath, murmuring imsorryimsorryimsorry over and over again.

You feel your tears prickling in your eyes too, hushing him, kissing away the tears and stroking his hair. Your thumb brushing across his damp cheek.

And you can see it in his eyes—it wasn’t lust anymore. It wasn’t even pain.

It was the kind of quiet that only comes after a storm. When both people are soaked and spent but still holding each other, still choosing each other in the rubble.

You didn’t ask ‚what happens now.‘

He didn’t make promises.

You just breathed together.

You guys don‘t even know how often I changed this😭 I hope you guys like this <3

How to Disappear Masterlist

Taglist: @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @glitterspark @replaythatrayrae @bluekat707 @ccmoonshine @datgirl-audrey @cuntyhunty22 @lovelystrawberrysblog @heartpatch @sukivenue @valitagun @lizaispunk @bigeyesbabe @mystickittytaco @catalysmic @marisemonteiroo @nosebeers @ariundercovers @misguidedasgardian @neobangverse @lestatismo @aj0elap0l0gist @ur-fav-pixi @pedrofan @hhallefuckinglujahh @callmeafra @b1bbles @fallout-girl219 @therewastherewas @ivoryandflame @pinkcabinet @cuteanimalmama @paprikainfurs @loveisacowboyyy @theoraekenslover

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller series #hbo tlou #joel miller x you

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disillusioneddanny · 10 months ago

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Dis Fic List: Dead on Main aka Danny Fenton/Jason Todd

Thought it might be a fun challenge to make some rec lists for my fics! This one is of all of my Jason/Danny fics.

Let me know if there are any lists you'd like to see from my works!

Collapse Into My Arms (And I'll Take Care of Your Heart)

Jason Todd is about to go into heat. Thankfully he has his amazing Beta boyfriend who makes Jason feel safer than anyone has ever made him feel before.

Info:

Oneshot

Words: 1,170

Lightning in a Bottle

Jason gets his neck sliced by Bruce’s batarang. It irreversibly damaged his vocal cords. Pros: He can still use ghost speak Cons: None of his family knows ghost speak (as it’s sounds aren’t for living men to understand) Thankfully Jason meets Danny Fenton who not only understands ghost speak but can teach him how to live again after his accident.

Chapters: 21/21 --completed

Words: 46,202

Fallin' Into Your Ocean Eyes

After a fight with his father, Jason finds himself getting comfort from his merperson boyfriend, Danny.

Oneshot

Words: 2,874

You Put Your Arms Around Me (And I'm Home)

Jason Todd can't get over the fact that he has the life he does. Bruce Wayne reminds him that he's deserving of a good life.

oneshot

Words: 2,912

People Watching

Jason has been people watching for as long as he can remember, always wondering when it would be his turn to fall in love. And then he meets Danny and realizes maybe it's his turn.

Oneshot

Words: 1,518

Wait For It

When sixteen year old Danny goes to check out the Lazarus Waters in a different universe he doesn't know what he's expecting. Somehow getting a new halfa boyfriend and a baby brother was what were in the books for the young Ghost Prince. Everything seems to be going well, though, until first Jason decides to leave the League of Assassins and Danny to get revenge for his death, and then Damian decides that now that he is about to get to meet his real father, he will no longer need Danny. Years later, though, both Damian and Jason realize that they lost more than expected when leaving Danny behind all those years before. Especially after watching the powerful ghost king defeat an enemy within seconds. Now both must figure out how to fix their broken relationships with the ghost who helped them when they needed it most and never asked for more.

Chapters: 17/17

Words: 33,891

A Lover's Lament

After being cursed by Plasmius, Danny's soulmate is forced to become reincarnated and forget everything he ever knew about his soul mate each cycle. Danny is forced to find his love and bring back the memories of their time together each life cycle until he can break the curse one day. Jason Todd was born to parents who did not really care about him. Lucky for him, his soulmate refuses to let him die before his time is up and is more than prepared to take care of him to the best of his ability.

Chapters: 23/23

Words: 40,310

Learn How to Fly

Jason wakes up in the Zone confused. Why the fuck does he have wings? And who is this weird Prince Phantom?

Oneshot

Words: 2,252

The Devil Wore a T-Shirt

After a one-night stand, Danny finds himself pregnant with Red Hood's kid. Now he finds himself as a dad to a small child with an important decision to make. Does he tell Red Hood he has a child? Or does Danny raise the kid by himself?

Chapters: 11/11

Words: 24,778

#dpxdc #Jason Todd x Danny Fenton #Dead On Main #Dead On Main Ship #Fic Recs

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reccyls · 3 months ago

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Victor's Main Route: Blind Love Chapter 23 + Letter

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

The next morning, I got up earlier than usual to wait for Victor.

(Maybe it’s a bit too early…)

The last time Victor came to pick me up for something, I had still been asleep when he arrived. I didn’t want to embarrass myself any further in front of him, so I had resolved to wake up earlier. However…

(...I’m bored.)

To make use of the free time, I decided to work on my report of last night’s events. I sat down in front of my typewriter and started working. Keeping my eyes on the words flying across the paper, I detailed the evils of the council leader.

(The council leader’s beliefs are the exact opposite of Victor’s.)

Unlike Victor, who chose duty above himself, and to sacrifice himself for the sake of the nation, The council leader only cared about things that benefited him, and not about the people.

(He even said that they were meant to be used.)

A land in which everyone may live freely, enjoying happiness without fear of falling victim to injustice. That was what Victor, as ruler of England, wished to achieve. In contrast, the council leader wanted happiness only for a select group of people. Technology and power were used only to fulfill his own greed.

(Even though those were meant to develop Victor’s country to give people more prosperous lives.) (The council leader trying to abuse them for his own ends is unforgivable.)

I finished my report with the conclusion that this was evil that Crown needed to condemn, and that the council leader had in the end been overcome by guilt so that he committed suicide.

(That’s that for last night.) (And now…)

I unlocked the drawer in my desk, glancing over the report I stored within.

It was about Victor.

(I wonder if I can complete it now.)

As I reached for the report I had stopped writing halfway through… A knock sounded at the door, and I quickly shut and locked the drawer again.

Victor: Kate, are you up?

Kate: Yes, I’ll be right there!

I put away the report I had been writing, then grabbed my bag and opened the door. My attention was once again captured by the sight of the smile he made as our eyes met.

Victor: Good morning, Kate.

Kate: Good morning, Victor.

We greeted each other. Such a simple thing was enough to fill me with happiness to the point I thought I might burst. But…

(After this, how many more times will we be able to say ‘good morning’ to each other like this?)

To try and disguise the sudden loneliness I felt, I put on my brightest voice as I continued speaking.

Kate: Where are we going today?

A gentleness filled his eyes as he answered.

Victor: Somewhere quite far from London.

…

We took a carriage to the train station.

Victor: Kate, over here.

He still hadn’t revealed our exact destination. We made our way to a train car and sat down facing each other. A young girl’s voice called out to us from outside the car.

Flower Seller: Hello, would you like a flower?

Victor was faster than me to respond to the girl, who carried a full basket of flowers.

Victor: I was just thinking I’d like some flowers. Could I have all of them?

Flower Seller: All of them!?

Victor: I’ll pay for them, of course.

His gaze was warm as he watched the girl frantically do calculations in her head. I watched them with a smile, knowing that she was one of the citizens Victor wanted to protect. After the girl finished calculating how much all the flowers would cost, she gave Victor all the flowers as he paid, and gave her a tip on top.

Flower Seller: Huh…?

She looked confused, but Victor just smiled at her.

Victor: I wouldn’t be able to have such wonderful flowers if not for you. Spend it as you like.

The train’s whistle pierced through the air. It was time to depart.

Flower Seller: Thank you, mister, miss!

As the train began moving, we continued to wave goodbye to the girl until she disappeared from view.

Kate: They really are wonderful flowers.

I shut the window as the train began to pick up speed, my gaze falling on the large bouquet of flowers.

Victor: They’ll be needed when we reach our destination. Victor: I thought about visiting a florist to buy some, but children like them tend to gather near stations as well. Victor: Since we’re going to be taking the train anyway, I figured it would be better to buy some from them.

These flowers were not perfectly selected the way they would be at a professional florist. They were more like wildflowers which grew on the sides of roads, like the ones I was more familiar with. Their familiarity made them lovely, and I picked one to smell it. Its pleasant scent made me smile, which in turn made Victor look pleased.

Kate: I just remembered that there were similar flowers that grew near the post office. Kate: I’m sure the flowers from a florist are wonderful, but these are amazing too. Kate: Maybe even more amazing, knowing how hard that girl must have worked to gather all of them.

Dirt had gotten under the girl’s nails, and her fingers had been stained by the flower stems. It must have taken so long to gather this many flowers.

Victor: I wish that I could work even one second faster, to create a world where children won’t have to work. Victor: But the world can’t change in the blink of an eye. I must start with only what I can do, first.

His profile as he gazed out the window was full of sorrow. I put the flower back and whispered.

Kate: …But I believe that someday, Her Majesty will make that world real.

Victor turned to me with his eyes widened in surprise, and I grinned at him.

Kate: Queen Victoria’s guidance helped develop the economy and made the country richer, right? Kate: I’m sure that will lead to better lifestyles and education for children like that girl, and that will bring the future closer to becoming reality. Kate: There isn’t anyone else who thinks more about the citizens of the country, after all.

He let out a breath.

Victor: Ahaha, you’re exactly right. Victor: That is why she took the throne. Victor: To make everyone in the country happy, the country must be developed enough so that every single citizen can be supported.

The sorrow in his face vanished, replaced by an excited cheerfulness.

Victor: You truly believe in Her Majesty.

Kate: Yes. I think she’s a wonderful person.

We spoke like we were sharing a private joke, and Victor sounded even more amused as he continued.

Victor: Then I’d like to ask, what exactly do you like about Her Majesty?

Kate: Uh…

You’re really making me say it?

Asking like that is cheating. (+4/+2)

Things like this.

Kate: Asking like that is cheating…

Victor: Really? I think Her Majesty would enjoy knowing, though. Victor: Because it’s the words that come directly from your mouth.

He was smiling teasingly as he waited for my response. I took a deep breath and sat up straighter.

Kate: …Like I said before, I admire that she cares so much for the citizens of her country, more than anyone else. Kate: She works so hard so that everyone can live freely, and I think that’s incredible. Kate: But…

Victor: Hm?

Kate: I’m worried that she doesn’t seem to consider herself to be one of those citizens. Kate: Just like she wishes for the happiness of her people, Kate: There are those who wish for our ruler to live a life full of happiness and freedom, too.

Victor blinked in surprise.

(He’s probably not going to agree…)

I let my expression relax, just a bit, and continued to look into his rounded, jewel-like eyes. No matter how much I wished for it, I knew it wasn’t something he could accept. …But that wouldn’t change anything about how I felt.

(I’ll never stop wishing for Victor’s happiness. Not for a single moment.)

Kate: Please make sure you tell Her Majesty what I said. Kate: It’s the will of her beloved people, after all.

Instead of responding, he just smiled, and closed his eyes. The train continued to speed to its destination.

…

Kate: This is…

We got off the train in a village some hours away from London. Just a few minutes after leaving the train, the view that spread before my eyes was full of lush greenery, unlike anything I’d ever seen in London. As I watched the rolling hills that seemed to go on and on beyond the horizon were sprinkled with verdant trees, holding the bundle of flowers, Victor began walking and I followed.

Victor: This village is a popular summer holiday location for aristocrats.

Kate: I think I’ve heard about this place before. There’s a really famous lake here, right?

The nobility of London would flee the heat and bustle of summer London, gathering at places like this. When I was working as a postal worker, every summer there was a noble family that left for this village, but one of them would stay behind in London. I remembered that there were always letters and postcards to deliver to the noble who stayed behind.

Victor: My uncle has a second residence here.

Victor had a nostalgic look on his face as he continued speaking while walking.

Victor: When I was a child, I’d be allowed to stay in my uncle’s villa during the summers. Victor: It was the one time each year that I would be able to escape the palace.

As the warm sunlight illuminated the path before us, the clear blue sky above seemed to stretch into infinity. As we walked, I spotted a lake near the foot of the hill we were on. The surface of the lake sparkled in the light, reflecting the world like a giant mirror. There was not a single bit of impurity in the water. I was entranced.

Standing next to me, Victor pointed to the lake and reminisced.

Victor: I would go fishing on that pier. Victor: Go running along the opposite bank. Victor: Ah, and I used to roll around in that grass over there.

I smiled as I imagined Victor as a child.

(Those sound like wonderful memories…)

Kate: Sounds like you were an overactive kid.

Victor: I have always put in all my effort into the things I enjoy, Kate. Victor: None of this was allowed at the palace, so I let out my energy here. Victor: I could feel like I was the freest person in the world when I was here. Only here, nowhere else.

Victor began to walk again. I followed after him, listening attentively as he spoke about his past.

Victor: I was always the closest to my uncle out of all my other family members. Victor: I saw him more as a brother, albeit one much older than I was. And he had always been kind to me, ever since I was very young.

(His uncle… was the one he had taken the life of…)

He noticed the shadow that fell over my expression, but laughed ruefully.

Victor: As you’ve realized, my uncle was the first person I had deliberately killed. Victor: Until the succession crisis became an inescapable part of my reality, I had continued to keep regular contact with my uncle. Victor: But once my father died, we were forced to stay apart from each other.

I couldn’t spot any sadness in his expression as he spoke. But I knew the sorrow I sensed wasn’t just my imagination.

Victor: I had no prominent position in the royal family, and rarely left the palace, so very few people knew of my existence. Victor: My uncle was well-known, and popular. Honestly it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference if I showed my face more back then.

Kate: Why?

I turned to fully face him as he held the flowers.

Victor: In my opinion, my uncle had always been the better candidate to become king.

He seemed like he was looking at something far in the distance.

Victor: He treated everyone equally and never stopped thinking about how he could help make the country better. Victor: Because I’d known him ever since my childhood, I’ve always known just how great a person he was.

Kate: But, your uncle is…

We stopped walking. I followed Victor’s gaze to a headstone. There was a row of unmarked gravestones.

Victor: He was an incredible person, but had just one weakness. Victor: And that was his weak will.

Victor knelt and began laying out the flowers on the graves, one after the other.

Victor: Knowing that, I asked him about his resolve that night.

The wind began to blow strongly. Victor’s long dark hair painted a waving line against the blue sky.

Victor: This is where my family rests eternally, their lives taken by my hand.

Kate: What?

Victor: …Or it would be, but there’s nothing buried here. Their actual bodies are interred in a cemetery in London. Victor: So I made these graves here on my own.

He replaced the flowers that had been blown aside by the wind.

Victor: So that I will remember the sin of killing them, for the rest of my life.

His eyes closed as if in prayer, and he let out a breath. Born into the royal family and wielding a curse, he caused the deaths of his entire family and now sat on the throne with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

(How much longer will he have to keep bearing it?)

If he hadn’t been born into the royal family, if he had never been cursed, maybe none of this would have happened.

(He’s probably thought the same thing.)

But because he was born into the royal family, and because he was cursed, he was here now.

(And I fell in love with the him who is here now.)

I closed my own eyes, lacing my fingers together in prayer. Even though the path I walked to get here was filled with so much pain and sorrow, I was glad, from the bottom of my heart, that I had met him.

(That too, won’t ever change.)

May the lives he took rest in peace. All I could do was pray.

Victor: Sorry to keep you waiting… Kate?

I heard the sound of his footsteps drawing near, but I continued praying. He stopped just next to me, and I didn’t know what expression was on his face at that moment.

Victor: …Thank you.

Those quiet words should have been swallowed up by the wind, but I heard them loud and clear.

Letter: I Want to Talk About Memories With You

Dear Kate,

When you told me about your childhood that one time, it reminded me of my own childhood memories.

What games did I use to play? What did I use to like? What did I find fun? What memories are unforgettable?

Almost all of my happiest memories are gathered here. I loved the time I could spend freely here more than anything else. I could forget all about the annoying obligations I had, even if for just a moment.

I never thought that it would be like this, but I am truly happy I can show this place to you.

What are you thinking as we walk around? I sneak glances at your profile to try and guess.

Your eyes shine so much more brilliantly than the scenery that surrounds us.

#ikemen villains #my translation #victor (ikevil)

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